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, iho’jf 


POPULAR WORKS. 

By Captain Mayne Reid. 


I. THE SCALP HUNTERS. 

II. THE RIFLE RANGERS. 

m. THE TIGER HUNTER. 

IV.— OSCEOLA, THE SEMINOLE. 

V. THE WAR TRAIL. 

VI. THE HUNTER’S FEAST. 

VII. RANGERS AND REGULATORS. 

VIII. THE WHITE CHLEF. 

IX. THE QUADROON. 

X. THE WILD HUNTRESS. 

XI. THE WOOD RANGERS. 

XII.— WILD LIFE. 

XIII. THE MAROON. 

XIV. LOST LEONORE. 

XV. THE HEADLESS HORSEMAN. 

XVI. THE WHITE GAUNTLET. 


Captain Mayne Reid’s works are of an intensely interesting 
and fascinating character. Nearly all of them being 
founded upon some historical event, they 
possess a permanent value, while pre- 
senting a thrilling, earnest* 
dashing fiction sur- 
passed by no 
novels of 
the day. 

All published uniform with this volume, at $1.59, sold every- 
where, and sent by mail, postage free, on receipt of price, by 

G. W. CARLETON, Publisher, 

New York* 


9 


THE WAR-TRAIL 


o«» 


THE HUNT OF THE WILD HORSE. 


% Romance of % prairie. 


BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID, 

AUTHOR OF THU “hunter’s FEAST,” “SCALP HUNTERS,” “RIFLE BANGERS,” “ QUAPEOO®,* 

AND “THE WHITE CHIEF.” 





& V A 


NEW YORK : 

Car let on, Publisher, Madison Square. 

LONDON : S. LOW, .SON & CO. 

M DCCC LXX. ' ''Y -v 


TZi 

.TU*f3 

Viar 



e 

Bmtbbko according to Aet of Congre**, in the year 1857, by 
ROBERT M. DE WITT, 

fc the Clerk’d Office of the District Court of the United States, for the Southern District of New York. 


Thf Publisher begs to inform the Trade and the Public, that portions of this work art 
tow first printed — not having been published -in England. This is done by expresi 
arrangement with the author, in order to protect the inviolability of the Copyright in 
this country, as the advance sheets have been secured for the American house at con- 
tidtrable expense. 






» 4 . . 

p 




iir.&ftti 

■ ! ? 






CONTENTS. 




otaptkb 


nei 


I. — SOUVENIRS, 

• 


• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

. 9 

II. — A MEXICAN FRONTIER VILLAGE, 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

* 

, .2 

- —THE rangers on picket, 

* 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

. 16 

IV. — MAKING A CAPTIVE, 

• 

• 

• 

• 

# 

• 

• 

• 

. 23 

V. — MY CAPTIVE, • 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

. 28 

VI. — ISOLINA DE VARGAS, 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

. 32 

VII. — AN ORDER TO FORAGE, 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

. 41 

Vni. — DON RAMON, 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

. 49 

IX. — “UN PAPELCITO,” . 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

. 53 

X. — AN OLD ENMITY, 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

. 59 

XI. — RAFAEL IJURRA, 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

. 65 

XII. — TnE YELLOW DOMINO, 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

. 73 

XIII. — THE BLUE DOMINO, . 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

. 78 

XIV. — LOVE-THOUGHTS, 

• 

• . 

• 

• 

c 

• 

• 

• 

. 87 

XV. — AN ODD EPISTLE, 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

. 91 

XVI. — THE MANADA, . 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

. 96 

XVII. — THE HUNT OF THE WILD 

HORSE, 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

. 102 

XVIII. — THE PHANTOM HORSE, 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

. 105 

XIX. — A PRAIRIE DREAM, . 

« 

• 

• 

* 

• 

• 

• 

• 

% 

• 

. Ill 

XX. — LOST UPON THE PRAIRIE 

? 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

. 115 

XXI. — A PRAIRIE REPAST, . 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

. 119 

XXII. — CHASED BY A “GRIZZLY,” 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

. 123 

XXIII. — THE TOUGHEST STRUGGLE OF 

MY 

LIFE, 

• 

• 

• 


• 

. 130 

XXIV. — OLD COMRADES, 

. 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

. 134 

XXV. — A QUEER CONVERSATION, 

. 

. 

• 

• 

• 

l 

• 

• 

. 139 

XXVI.— VOWS OF VENGEANCE, 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

. 145 

XXVII. — A “weed” prairie on 

FIRE 

} 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

. 151 

XXVIII. — RUBE ROASTED ALIVE, 

. 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

. 159 

XXIX.— THE MESA, 











T 


VI 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

XXX.— GUERRILLEROS, 

XXXI. — THE PARLEY, . • 

XXXII. — A DEAD SHOT, ♦ 
XXXIII. — A RUNNING-SHOT, . 
XXXIV. — RUBE’S CHARGER, • 
XXXV. — EL ZORRO, . ♦ 

XXXVI. — A PLAN OP ESCAPE, 
XXXVII. — ELIJAH QUACKENBOSS, 
XXXVIII. — THE TRAP EMPTY, . 
XXXIX. — SCALING THE CLIFF, 
XL. — A REINFORCEMENT, 


X 


XLI. — THE INDIAN SPY, . . ...... 

XLII. — THE CABALLADA, . 

XLIII. — A CHAPTER OP EXPLANATIONS, ....... 

XLIV. — DUTCH LIGE IN A DIFFICULTY, 

XLV. — A LOVER ON THE TRAIL, 

XLVI. — A DECLARATION ON HORSEBACK, 

XLVII. — STRAYED FROM THE TRACK, 259 

XLVIII. — AN ADIOS, ». '.■* 266 

XLIX. — THREATS, 270 


PAOl 

172 

17 7 

181 

186 

193 

198 

202 

206 

210 

215 

222 

226 

229 

234 

241 

245 

253 


L. — AWKWARD ODDS, . 






LI. — AN OFFICIAL BLACK LIST, . 






LII. — THE ROUTE, 






LIII. — CAMP GOSSIP, .... 






LIV. — THE RUINED RANCHO, . 






LV. — A CRUEL PROSCRIPTION, 






LVI. — THE BIVOUAC OF THE GUERRILLA, 

• 

• • 

• 

• 

. 307 

LYII. — TAKING THE TRAIL, 






LVIII. — THE VOYAGEUR, . • * • 






LIX. — TRAILING BY TORCH-LIGHT, „ . . 

• 

• • 

• 

• 

. 320 

LX. — THE SOMBRERO, .... 





. 324 

LXI. — THE TRAIL RECOVERED, . 





. 327 

LXII. — WOLVES ON THE TRACK, 






LXIII.— ACROSS THE TORRENT, . 






LXIV.— A LILLIPUTIAN FOREST, 






LXV. — SCATTERING THE WILD STALLIONS, 

• 

• • 

• 

• 

. 344 

LXVI. — LOST IN A CHAPARRAL, 






LX VII. — ENCOUNTER WITH JAVALI, 






LXVIII. — THE WOODS ON FIRE, . 





. 356 

LX IX. — SMOKE AND THIRST, 





. 360 

LXX. — A BURNT PRAIRTE, .... 





. 364 

LXXI. — THE TALK OF THE TRACKERS, . 

• 

• • 

• 

• 

. 367 

LXXII.— “ INJUN SIGN,” .... 







CONTENTS 


Vll 


CHAPTER PAGB 

LXXII1.— ' TRANSLATING THE “ 8IQN,” 375 

LXXIV. — THE STEED LAZOED, 379 

LXXV. — THE “INDIOS BRAVOS,” * 382 

LXXVI. — ON THE WAR-TRAIL, 387 

LXXVn. — THE WRITING ON THE MAGUET, . . . . . , t 391 - 

LXXVIII. — THE SOUTHERN SAVAGE, 395 

LXXIX. — A SUBTERRANEAN FIRE, ...••••« 398 

LXXX. — A RED EPISTLE, 403 

LXXXI. — MORE WRITING IN RED, . 407 

LXXXII. — AN INJUN ON THE BACK TRACK, 411 

LXXXIII. — CAPTURING A COMANCHE, 415 

LXXXIV. — “PAINTING INJUN,” 419 

LXXXV. — THE LAST HOURS ON THE TRAIL, 424 

L XXXVI. — THE COMANCHE CAMP, . . . 427 

LXXX VII. — NO COVER, . • . . .431 

LXXXVIII. — RUBE CONSULTING HIS ORACLE, * 435 

LXXXIX. — THE TRAPPER’S COUNSEL, ....... 439 

XC. — TAKING TO THE WATER, 443 

XCI. — UP STREAM, 447 

xcii. — coup d’ceil of the camp, 452 

* 

XCIII. — A FRIENDLY ENCOUNTER, 455 

XCIV. — SPY IN COUNCIL, . / 460 

XCV. — THE COUNCIL IN SESSION, 463 

XCVT. — THE RENEGADE CLAIMS HIS CAPTIVES, 467 

XCVII. — SPEECHES IN COUNCIL, 470 

XCVIII. — A ROUGH COURTSHIP, 475 

XCIX. — THE CRISIS, ...«.«.«• • 479 

C. — THE LAST GALLOP, . ....... 48* 

01 — CONCLUSION, 488 
















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lie had no intention either of further night or resistance ; but facing the levelled tube, 
and looking me full in the face, he said with an air of perfect coolness : 44 Do not kill me. 
sir ! I am a woman !” — Page 2S 


THE WAR-TEAIL. 


CHAPTER I. 

SOUVENIRS. 

Land of the nopal and maguey — home of Moctezuma and 
Malinchd ! — I cannot wring thy memories from my heart ! 
Years may roll on, hand wax weak, and heart grow old, but 
never till both are cold can I forget thee ! I would not ; for tlieo 
would I remember. Not for all the world would I bathe my 
soul in the waters of Lethe. Blessed be memory for thy sake ! 

Bright land of Anahuac 1 my spirit mounts upon the aerial 
wings of Fancy, and once more I stand upon thy shores! Over 
thy broad savannahs I spur my noble steed, whose joyous neigh 
tells that he too is inspired by the scene. I rest under the 
shade of the corozo palm, and quaff the wine of the acrocomia. 
I climb thy mountains of amygdaloid and porphyry — thy crags 
o f quartz, that yield the white silver and the yellow gold. I 
ross the fields of lava, rugged in outline, and yet more rugged 
with their coverture of strange vegetable forms — the cycas and 
cactus, yuccas and zamias. I traverse thy table-plains through 
bristling rows of giant aloes, whose sparkling juice cheers ms 

on my path. I stand upon the limits of eternal snow; crushing 

a 


10 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


the Alpine lichen under ray heel ; while down in the deep bar 
ranca, far down below, I behold the feathery fronds of the palm ; 
the wax-like foliage of the orange, the broad shining leaves of 
the pathos, the arums, and bananas! O that I could look 
with living eye on these bright pictures! But even palely out- 
lined upon the retina of memory, they impart a soothing plea- 
sure to my soul. 

Land of Moctezuma! I have other souvenirs of thee, more 
deeply graven on my memery than these pictures of peace. 
Thou recallest scenes of war. I traversed thy fields a foeman 
— sword in hand — and now, after years gone by, many a wild 
scene of soldier-life springs up before me with all the vividness 
of reality. 

The Bivouac ! — I sit by the night camp-fire ; around are war- 
like forms and bearded faces. The blazing log reflects the sheen 
of- arms and accoutrements — saddles, rifles, pistols, canteens, 
strewing the ground, or hanging from the branches of adjacent 
trees. Picketed steeds loom large in the darkness, their forms 
dimly outlined against the sombre background of the forest. A 
solitary palm stands near, its curving fronds looking hoary 
under the fire-light. The same light gleams upon the fluted 
columns of the great organ-cactus, upon agaves and bromelias, 
, upon the silvery tillandsia, that drapes the tall trees as with a 
toga. 

The wild tale is told — the song is sung — the jest goes round 
— the hoarse peal echoes through the aisles of the forest, fright- 
ing the parrot on its perch, and the wolf upon his prowl. Little 
reck they who sing, and jest, and laugh — little reck they of the 
morrow. 

******* 

The Skirmish /—Morning breaks. The fragrant forest is 
silent, and the white blue light is just tinging the tree-tops. A 
shot rings upon the air: it is the warning-gun of the picket- 
seutiuel, v>o comes galloping in upon the guard. The enemy 


SOUVENIRS. 


11 


approaches! “ To horse !” the bugle thrills in clear loud notes 
The slumberers spring to their feet — they seize their rifles, 
pistols, and sabres, and dash through the smouldering fires till 
ashes cloud the air. The steeds snort and neigh ; in a trice 
they are saddled, bridled, and mounted ; and away sweeps the 
troop along the forest road. 

The enemy is in sight — a band of guerillas , in all their pictu- 
resqueness manga and serape—oi scarlet, purple, and gold. 
Lances, with shining points and streaming pennons, overtop the 
trees. 

The bugle sounds the charge ; its notes are drowned by the 
charging cheer. We meet our swarthy foemen face to face ; 
spear-thrusts are answered by pistol-shots; our sabres cross and 
clink, but oar snorting steeds rear back, and will not let us kill 
each other. We wheel and meet again, with deadlier aim, and 
more determined arm ; we strike without remorse-— we strike 
for freedom! 

* * * * * * * 

Tke Battle-field ! — The serried columns and the bristling guns 
— the roar of cannon and the hoarse roll of drums — the bugle’s 
wildest notes, the cheer, the charge — the struggle hand to hand 
— the falling foeman and his dying groan— the rout, retreat, the 
hoarse huzza for victory! I well remember, but I cannot paint 
them. 

******* 

Land of Anahuac! thou recallest other scenes, far different 
from these — scenes of tender love or stormy passion. The 
strife is o’er — the war-drum has ceased to beat, and the bugle 
to bray ; the steed stands chafing in his stall, and the conqueror 
dallies in the halls of the conquered. Love is now the victor, 
and the stern soldier, himself subdued, is transformed into a 
suing lover. In gilded hall or garden bower, behold him on 
bended knee, whispering his soft tale in the ear of some dark 
eyed donpella, Andalusian, or Aztec! 


12 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


Lovely land! I have sweet memories of thee ; for who could 
traverse thy fields without beholding some fair flower, ever after 
to be borne upon his bosom. And yet, not all my souvenirs 
are glad. Pleasant and painful, sweet and sad, they thrill my 
heart with alternate throes. But the sad emotions ha,ve been 
tempered by time, and the glad ones, at each returning tide, 
seem tinged with brighter glow. In thy bowers, as elsewhere, 
roses must be plucked from thorns ; but in memory’s mellowed 
light I see not the thorns — I behold only the bright and beauti- 
ful roses. 


CHAPTER II. 

A MEXICAN FRONTIER VILLAGE. 

A Mexican pueblita on the banks of the Rio Bravo del 
Norte — a mere rancheria or hamlet. The quaint old church of 
Morisco-Italian style, with its cupola of motley japan, the resi- 
dence of the cura, and the house of the alcalde , are the only 
stone structures in the place. These constitute three sides of 
the plaza, a somewhat spacious square. The remaining side is 
taken up with shops or dwellings of the common people. They 
are built of large unburnt bricks (adobes), some of them washed 
with lime, others gradually colored like the proscenium of a 
theatre, but most of them uniform in their muddy and forbidding 
brown. All have heavy, jail-like doors, and windows without 
glass or sash. The reja of iron bars set vertically, opposes the 
burglar, not the weather. 

Prom the four corners of the plaza, narrow, unpaved, dusty 
lanes lead off to the country, for some distance bordered ou 
both sides by the adobe houses. Still further out, on the skirts 
of the village, and sparsely placed, are dwellings of frailer build 


A MEXICAN FRONTIER VILLAGE. 


13 


but more picturesque appearance ; they are ridge-roofed struc- 
tures, of the split trunks of that gigantic lily, the arborescent 
yucca. Its branches form the rafters, its tough fibrous leaves 
the hatch. In these ranchitos dwell the poor peons, the 'descend- 
ants of the -conquered race. 

The stone dwellings, and those of mud likewise, are fiat-roof ed i 
tiled or cemented, sometimes tastefully japanned, with a para- 
pet breast-high running round the edge. . This flat roof is the 
azotea } characteristic of Mexican architecture. 

When the sun is low and the evening cool, the azotea is a 
pleasant lounging-place, especially when the proprietor of the 
house has a taste for flowers ; then it is converted into an aerial 
garden, and displays the rich flora, for which the picture-land of 
Mexico is justly celebrated. It is just the place to enjoy a cigar, 
a glass of pinole, or, if you prefer it, Catalan. The smoke is 
wafted away, and the open air gives a relish to the beverage. 
Besides, your eye is feasted ; you enjoy the privacy of a draw- 
ing-room, while you command what is passing in the street. The 
slight parapet gives security, while hindering a too free view 
from below ; you see, without being seen. The world moves 
on, busied with earthly affairs, and does not think of looking 
up. 

I stand upon such an azotea: it is that over the house of the 
alcalde; and his being the tallest roof in the village, I command 
a view of all the others. I can see beyond them all, and note 
the prominent features of the surrounding country. My eye 
wanders with delight over the deep rich verdure of its tropic 
vegetation; I can even distinguish its more characteristic forms 
— the cactus, the yucca, and the agave. I observe that the 
village is girdled by a belt of open ground — cultivated fields — 
where the maize waves its silken tassels in the breeze, contrast- 
ing with the darker leaves of the capsicums and beau-plants 
(frijoles). This open ground is of limited extent. The chappa- 
ral, with its thorny thicket of acacias, mimosae, ingas, and robi 


I4r 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


nias — a perfect maze ot leguminous trees — hems it in ; and sc 
near is the verge of this jungle, that I can distinguish its 
undergrowth of stemless sabal palms and bromelias — the sun- 
scorched and scarlet leaves of the pita plant shining in the dis 
tance like lists of fire. 

This propinquity of forest to the little pueblita bespeaks the 
indolence of the inhabitants ; perhaps not. It must be remem- 
bered that these people are not agriculturists, but vaqueros 
(herdsmen) ; and that the glades and openings of that thick 
chapparal are speckled with herds of fierce Spanish cattle, and 
droves of small sharp-eared Andalusian horses, of the race of 
the Barb. The fact of so little cultivation does not abnegate 
the existence of industry on the part of the villagers. Grazing 
is their occupation, not farming ; only a little of the latter to 
give them maize for their tortillas , child to season it with, and 
black beans to complete the repast. These three, with the half- 
wild beef of their wide pastures, constitute the staple of food 
throughout all Mexico. For drink, the denizen of the high 
table-land finds his favorite beverage — the rival of champagne — 
in the core of the gigantic aloe ; while he of the tropic coast- 
land refreshes himself from the stem of another native endogen, 
the acrocomia palm. 

Favored land! Ceres loves thee, and Bacchus too. To thy 
fields both the god and the goddess have been freely bounteous. 
Food and drink may be had from them on easy terms. Alas ! 
as in all other lands-^one only excepted— N* lure’s divine views 
have been thwarted, her aim set aside, by the malignity of man. 
As over the broad world, the blight of the despot is upon thy 
beauty. 

Why are these people crowded together — hived, as it were, 
in towns and villages? Herdsmen, one w'ould expect to find 
scattered by reason of their occupation. Besides, a sky con- 
tinually bright, a genial clime, a picturesqueness of scene — all 
seem to invite to rural life ; and yet I have ridden for hours, a 


A MEXICAN FRONTIER VILLAGE. 


15 


> succession of lovely landscapes rising before my eyes, all ol 
them wild, wanting in that one feature which makes the rural 
picture perfect — the house, the dwelling of man ! Towns there 
are, and at long intervals the huge hacievdcu of the landed lord, 
walled in like a fortress j but where are the ranchos, the homes 
of the common people ? True, I have noticed the ruins of many, 
and that, explains the puzzle. I remember, now that I am on 
the ^frontier £ that for years past the banks of the Rio Bravo, 
from its source to the sea, have been hostile ground — a war- 
border 1500 miles in length ! Many a red conflict has occurred 
— is still occurring — between those Arabs of the American 
desert — th q- H orse Indians — and the pale-faced descendants of 
the' Spaniard. That is why the ranchos exist only in ruins — 
that is why the haciendas are loopholed, and the populace pent 
up within walls. The condition of* feudal Europe exists in free 
America, on the banks of the Rio Bravo del Norte 1 

******* 
Nearly a mile off, looking westward, I perceive the sheen of 
water : it is a reach of the great river that glances under the 
setting sun. The river curves at that point ; and the sum- 
mit of a gentle hill, half girdled by the stream, is crowned by 
the low white walls of a hacienda. Though only one story 
high, this hacienda appears, from its extent, and the style of its 
architecture, to be a noble mansion. Like all of its class, it is 
flat-roofed ; but the parapet is crenated, and small ornamental 
turrets over the angles and the great gateway relieve the mono- 
tony of its outlines. A larger tower, the belfry, appears in the 
background, for the Mexican hacienda is usually provided with 
its little ccrpilla for the convenient- worship of the peon* retainers. 
The- emblems of religion, such as it is, 'are thick over the land. 
The glimmer of glass behind the iron rejas relieves to some 
extent the prison-like aspect, so characteristic of Mexican 
country-houses. This is further modified by the -appearance 
over the parapet of green foliage Forms of t tropic vegetation 


16 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


show above the wall ; among others, the graceful curving fronds 
of a palm. This must be an.exotic, for although the lower half 
of the Rio Bravo is within the zone of the palms, the species thak' 
grow so far- north are fan-palms (chamccrops and sabal). This 
one is of far different form, with plume-shaped pinnate fronds, 
of the character of cocos, phoenix or enterpe r I note the fact, 
not from any botanical curiosity with which it inspires me, but 
rather because the presence of this exotic palm has a signifi- 
cance. It illustrates a point in the.eharacter of him — it may be 
her — who is the presiding spirit of the place. No doubt there 
is a fair garden upon the azotea — perhaps affair being among 
its flowers. Pleasant thoughts spring up-^anticipations. I 
long to climb that sloping hill, to enter that splendid mansion, 
and longing still, I gaze. 

******* 

The ring of a bugle reminds me of my duties. ’Tis but a 
stable-call; but it has driven those sweet reflections out of my 
mind, and my eyes are turned away from the bright mansion, and 
rest upon the plaza of the pueblita. There, a fat different scene 
greets their glance. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE RANGERS ON PICKET. 

The centre of the plaza presents a salient point in the pic 
ture. There the well (cl poso), with its gigantic wheel, its huge 
leathern belt and buckets, its trough of cemented stone-work, 
offers an oriental aspect: Verily, it is the Persian wheel ! >Tis 
odd to a northern eye, particularly, to find such a structure in 
this western land; but the^explanation is easy. That idea has 
travelled from Egypt along the southern shores of the Mediter 
ranean. With tjie Moors it crossed the Straits of Gibraltar, 


THE RANGERS ON TICKET. 


17 


and the Spaniard- has carried it over the Atlantic. The reader 
of the-sacred volume will find many a -familiar passage illustrated 
in the customs of Mexico. The genius of the Arab has shaped 
many a thought for the brain of the Aztec. 

My eye rests not long upon the Persian wheel, but turns to 
gaze on the scene of active life that is passing around it. Forms, 
and varied ones, I trow, are moving there. 

Gliding with silent step and dubious lpok — his wide calzoneros 
flapping around his ankles, his arms and shoulders shrouded in 
the mottled serapd, his black broad-brimmed hat darkening still 
more his swarth face— goes the 'pollano, the denizen of the adobd 
hut. He shuns the centre of the plaza, keeping around the 
walls; but at intervals his eyes are turned towards the well with 
a look of raingledjierceness and fear. He reaches a doorway — • 
it is silently opened by a hand within — he enters quickly, and 
seems glad to get .out of sight. A little after, I can catch a 
glimpse of hia, sombre face dimly outlined behind the bars of the 
reja. At distant corners, I descry small groups of his class — all 
similarly costumed in calzoneros, striped blankets, and glaze 
hats; all, like him, wearing uneasy looks. They gesticulate 
little, contrary to their usual habit, and converse only in whis- 
pers or low mutterings. Unusual circumstances surround them. 

Most of the women are within ioors ; a few of the poorer 
class — of pure Indian race — are seated in the plaza. They are 
hucksters, and their wares are spread before them on a thin palm- 
leaf mat (pet ate), while another similar one, supported umbrella- 
like on a stem, screens them and their merchandise from the sun. 
Their dyed woollen garments, their bare heads, their coarse 
black hair, adorned with twists of scarlet worsted, give them 
somewhat of a gipsy look. They appear as free of care as the 
zingali Jthemselves: they laugh, and chatter, and show their white 
teeth all da.y long, asking each new-comer to purchase their fruits 
and vegetables, their pinole , atole, and agua dulce. Their not 
unmusical voices ring pleasantly upon the ear. 


1 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


Now and then a young girl, with red p lla poised upon her 
crown, trips lightly across the plaza in the direction of the well. 
Perhaps she is a poblana, one of the belles of the village, in 
short-skirted, bright-coloured petticoat, embroidered but sleeve- 
less chemisette, with small satin slippers upon her feet; head, 
shoulders, and bosom shrouded in the blue-gray reboso ; arms and 
ankles bare. Several of these are seen passing to and fro. They 
appear less uneasy than the men; they even smile at intervals, 
and reply to the rude badinage uttered in an unknown tongue 
by the odd-looking strangers around the well. The Mexican 
women are courageous as they are amiable. As a race, their 
beauty is - undeniable. 

But who are these, strangers ? They do not belong to the 
place, that is evident ; and equally clear it is that they are 
objects of terror to those who do. At present, they are masters 
here. Their numbers, their proud confident swagger, and the 
bold loud tone of their conversation, attest that they are mas- 
ters of the ground. Who are they ? Odd-looking, I have styled 
them ; and the phrase is to be taken in its full significance. A 
more odd-looking set of fellows never mustered in a Mexican 
plaza, nor elsewhere. 

There are fourscore of them; and but that each carries a 
yiiger rifle in his hand, a knife in his belt, and a Colt’s pistol on 
his thigh, you could not discover the slightest point of resemb- 
lance between any two of them. Their arms are the only things 
about them denoting uniformity , and some sort of organization; 
for the rest, they are as unlike one another as the various shapes 
and hues of coarse broadcloth, woollen jeans, -cottonades, colored 
blankets, and buckskin, can make them. They wear caps of 
coon-skin, and cat’s-skin, and squirrel ; hats of beaver, and felt, 
and glaze, of wool and palmetto, of every imaginable shape and 
slouch. Even of the modern monster^-the silken “ tile”— 
samples might be seen, badly crushed:- There are coats of broad- 
cloth, few in number, and well worn; but many are the garments 


THE RANGERS ON PICKET. 


19 


of “ Kentucky jeans,” of bluish-grey, of copper-colored nigger* 
cloth, and sky-colored cottonade. Some wear coats made of 
green blankets, others of blue ones, and some of a scarlet red. 
There are hunting-shirts of dressed deerskin, with plaited skirt, 
and cape, fringed and jauntily adorned with beads and embroid- 
ery — the favorite style of the backwoods hunter ; but others 
there are of true Indian cut, open only at the throat, and hang- 
ing loose, or fastened around the waist with a belt — the same 
that secures the knife and pistol. There are cloth jackets, too, 
such as are worn by sailors, and others of sky-blue cottonade — 
the costume of the jCreole of Louisiana; some of red-brown 
leather — the jaqueta of the Spano-Araerican; and still another 
fashion, the close-fitting embroidered “spencer” of the Mexican 
ranchero. Some shoulders are covered by serapes, and some by 
the more graceful and toga-like manga. Look lower down: 
examine the limbs of the men of this motley band : the covering 
of these is not less varied than their upper garments. You see 
wrappers of coarse cloth, of flannel, and of baize; they are blue, 
and scarlet, and green. You see leggings of rawhide and of 
buckskin; boots of horse-leather reaching to the thighs; “nig- 
ger boots” of still coarser fabric, with the pantaloons tucked 
under brogans of unstained calf-skin, and moccasins of varied 
cut, betokening the fashion of more than one Indian tribe. You 
may see limbs incased in calzoneros, and others in the heavy 
stamped leather botas of the Mexican horseman, resembling the 
greaves of warriors of the olden time. 

The heels of all are * armed, though their armature is as 
varied as the costumes. There are- spurs of silver and of steel, 
some.plated, and some with the plating worn off ; some strapped, 
and others screwed into the heel of the boot; some light, with 
small rowels and tiny teeth, while others are seen (the heavy 
spur of Mexico) of several pounds’ .weight, with rowels fiv6 
inches in diameter, and teeth that might be dashed through the 
ribs of a horse !-^cruel weapons of the Mexican cavallero. 


THE WAR-TKAIL. 


2t> 

But these spurs in the plaza, these botas and calzoneros, 
these mangas and serapds, are not worn by Mexicans. Their 
present wearers are men of a-different race. Most of those tall, 
stalwart-bodies are the product of the maize-plant of Kentucky 
and Tennessee, or the buckwheat and “ hog meat ” of the fertile 
flats of Ohio, Indiana, and the "Illinois. They are the squatters 
and hunters of the backwoods, the farmers of the great western 
slopes of the Alleghanies, the boatmen of the Mississippi, the 
pioneers of Arkansas and Missouri, the trappers of prairie-land, 
the voyageurs of the lake-country, the young planters of the 
lower states, the French Creoles of Louisiana, the adventurous 
settlers of Texas, with here and there a g ay, city spark from the 
larger towns of the “ great West.” Yes, and from other sources 
are individuals of that mixed band. I recognize the Teutonic 
type — the fair hair and whitish-yellow moustache of the German, 
the florid Englishman, the staid Scot, and his contrast the noisy 
Hibernian; both equally brave. I behold the adroit and nimble 
Frenchman, full of laugh and chatter, thejstanch soldierly Swiss, 
and the moustached exile of Poland, dark, sombre, and silent. 
What a study for an ethnologist is that band of odd-looking 
men 1 Who are they ? 

You have-thrice. asked the question. I answer it : They are 
a corps of Rangers a, guerilla of the American army. 

And who ami? Their captain-vtheir chief. 

Yes, Lam the leader of that queer crew; and, despite their 
rough motley, aspect, I dare affirm, that not in Europe, not in 
America elsewhere, not upon the. great, globe’s surface, can be 
found a band, of like numbers, to, equal them in strength, daring, 
and- warlike intelligence. Many of them have spent half a life 
in the sharpening practice of border warfare— -Indian or Mexi- 
can — and from these the others have, learnt. Some have been 
gentlemen upon whom fortune has frowned ; a few have been 
desperadoes within the pale of civilized life; and a smaller few, 


THE EANGEES ON PICKET. 


21 


perhaps,, beyond it-^bad materials wherewith to colonize; 

not so bad, if yon go but to conquer. 

Rude as is the- coup d’oeil of the corps, I am proud to say that 
a high sentiment of honor pervades it, higher than will ‘be found 
iu the picked corps de garde of an- emperor. True, they appear 
rough and reckless-^-terrible, I might say ; for most of them — ■ 
with their long beards and hair, dust-begrimed faces, slouched 
hats, and odd habiliments, belted as they are with knife, pistol, 
powder-horn, and pouch — present such an aspect, that you would 
wrong them to take them as they look. ~ Few among them are 
the pure bandits whose aim is plunder. Many a noble heart 
beats beneath a rude exterior — many a one truly humane. 
There are hearts in that band that throb under the influence of 
patriotism ; some are guided by a still more nobler impulse, a 
desire to extend the area of freedom ; others, it is true, yearn 
but for revenge. These last are chiefly Texans, who mourn a 
friend or brother slain by Mexican treachery. They have not 
forgotten the cowardly assassination of Goliad ; they remember 
the red butchery of the Alamo. 

Perhaps I alone, of all the band, have no motive for being 
here ; if one, ’tis- slight — scarce so noble as vengeance. Mere 
chance, the love of .excitement and adventure, perhaps some 
weak fondness for power and fame, are all the excuses I can urge 
for taking a hand in this affair. A poor, adventurer, without 
friends, without home, without country-^-for my native land is no 
more a nation-^my heart is not cheered by a single throb of 
patriotism. I have no private wrong to redress, no public 
cause, no country for which to combat. 

• During intervals of inaction, these thoughts recur to me, and 
give me pain. 

* * * * * * 

The men have picketed their horses in the church enclosure; 
some are tied to trees, and others to the reja-bars of the win- 
dows: like their riders, a motley group, various in size, cMor, 


22 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


and race. The strong high-mettled steed of Kentucky and Ten 
nessee, the light “pacer” of Louisiana, the cob, the barb, hia 
descendant the “ mustang/’ that but a few weeks ago was run- 
ning-wild upon the prairies, may all be seen iu the troop. Mules, 
also, of two distinct races — the large gaunt mule of North 
America, and the smaller and more sprightly variety, native of 
the soil. 

My own black steed, with his pretty fern-colored mnzzle, 
stands near the fountain in the centre of the plaza. My eye 
wanders with a sort of habitual delight over the oval outlines 
of his body. How proudly he curves his swan-like neck, and 
with mock anger paws up the dust I He knows that my eyes are 
upon him. 

****** 

We have been scarcely an hour in the rancheria ; we are per- 
fect-strangers to it : we are the* first -American -troop its people 
have yet seen, although the- war has been going on for some 
months farther down the river. We have been- sent here upon 
picket-duty, with orders to scour the surrounding country as far 
as it is safe. The- object in sending us hither is not so much to 
guard against a surprise from our Mexican foe, who is not upon 
this side, but to guard Mm, the Mexicans, from another enemy 
— an enemy of both of us — the'Comanchel These. Indian Ish- 
maelites, report says, are upon the “ war-trail and have quite 
an army iu the field. It is said they are foraging further up the 
river, where they have it all to themselves, and have just pillaged 
a^settleraent in that direction-^-butchered the -men, as is their 
wont, and carried off the- women, children, and chattels. We 
came hither to conquer the Mexicans, but we must protect wnile 
conquering them ! Cosas de Mexico ! 


MAKING A CAPTIVE. 


23 


CHAPTER IY. 

MAKING A CAPTIVE. 

I was musing upon the singular character of this triangular 
war, when my.reverie was disturbed by the hoof-strokes of a 
horse. The sounds, came from a distance, outside the village ; 
the strokes were those of a horse at full gallop. 

I stepped hastily across the azotea, and looked over the para- 
pet, in hopes of obtaining a view of this rapid rider. I was not 
disappointed — the road and the- rider came full under my eyes. 

In the latter r I beheld a picturesque object. He appeared to 
be a very young man — a mere youth, without beard or mous- 
tache, but of singularly handsome features. The complexion 
was dark, almost brown; but even at the distance of two hun- 
dred yards, I could perceive the flash of a noble eye, and note a 
damask redness upon his cheeks. His shoulders were covered 
with a scarlet manga, that draped backward over the hips of his 
horse; and upon his head he wore a light sombrero, laced, banded, 
and tasselled with bullion of gold. The horse was a small, but 
finely proportioned mustang, spotted like a jaguar upon a ground 
color of cream— ^a true Andalusian. 

The horseman was advancing at a gallop, without fear of the 
ground before him : by chance, his-eyes were raised to the level 
of the- a/otea, on which- I stood ; my uniform, and the sparkle 
of my accoutrements, caught his glance; and quick as thought r 
as if by an involuntary movement, he reined up his mustang, 
until its ample tail lay clustered upon the dust of the road. It 
was then that I noted the singular -appearance of both horse 
<ind rider. 


24 


TIIE WAR-TRAIL. 


Just at that moment, the ranger, who helchpicket on that side 
of the village, sprang forth from his hiding-place, and challenged 
the horseman to halt. The- challenge was- unheeded. Another 
jerk of the rein spun the mustang round, as upon a pivot, and 
the next instant, impelled by the spur, the animal resumed his 
gallop. He did-, not return by the road, but shot off in a new 
direction, nearly at right angles to his former course. A rifle- 
bullet would have, followed, and most likely have stopped the 
career of either horse or rider, had not I, just in the nick of 
time, -shouted to the sentry to hold his fire. 

A reflection had occurred to me: the^gamewas too noble, too 
beautiful, to be butchered by a bullet ; it was worth a chase and 
a capture. 

My horse was by the water-trough. I had noticed that he 
was not yet unsaddled, and the bridle was still on. He had 
been warmed by the morning’s scout ; and I had ordered my 
negro groom to walk him round for an hour or so before letting 
him at the water. 

I did not wait to descend by the escalera ; I sprang upon the 
parapet, and from that into the piazza. The groom, perceiving 
my intention, met me half-way with the horse. I seized the 
reins, and bounded into the saddle. Several of the readiest of 
the rangers -folio wed my example; and as I galloped down the 
lane that led out of the rancheria, I could tell by the clattering 
of hoofs that half a dozen of them were at my heels. I cared 
not much for that, for surely I was a match for the stripling we 
meant to. chase. I knew, moreover, that speed at the moment 
was of more importance than strength; and that if the spotted 
horse possessed as much ‘‘bottom” as he evidently did “heels,” 
his rider and I would have it to ourselves in the end. I knew 
that all the horses of my troop were less swift than my-own ; 
and from the half-dozen springs I had witnessed on the part of 
the mustang, I felt satisfied that it remained only for me to over- 
haul him. 


MAKING A CAPTIVE. 


25 


My springing down from the roof and up into the saddle had 
occupied scarcely two minutes’ time; and in two more, I had 
cleared the houses, and was scouring across the fields after the 
scarlet horseman. He was evidently making to get round the 
village, and continue the journey our presence had so suddenly 
interrupted. 

The chase led through a fieid of milpas (maize). My horse 
sank deeply in the loose earth, while the lighter mustang bounded 
over it like a hare: he was distancing me. I began to fear I 
would lose him, when all at once I saw that his course was in- 
tercepted by a list of magueys, running transversely right and 
left. The plants were of luxuriant growth, eight or ten feet 
high, and placed alternately, so that their huge hooked blades 
interlocked with each other, forming a natural chevaux-de-frise. 

This- barrier at first glance seemed impassable for either man 
or horse. It brought the Mexican to a halt. lie was turning 
ta skirt it, when he perceived that I had leaned into the diagonal 
line, and could not-fail to head him. With a quick wrench upon 
the rein, he onca more .wheeled round, set his horse against the 
magueys, plied the spur, and dashed right into their midst. In 
a moment more, both horse and rider were out of sight; but as 
I spurred up to the spot, I could hear the thick blades crackle 
under the hoofs of the mustang. 

There was -no time for reflection. I must either follow, or 
abandon the pursuit. The^ alternative was not thought of. I 
was on my honor, my. steed upon his mettle; and without halt 
we went plunging through the magueys. 

Torn and bleeding, we came out on the opposite side; and I 
perceived, to my satisfaction, that I had made- better time than 
the -red rider before me : his halt had lessened the distance be- 
tween us. But another field of* milpas had to be passed, and he 
was again - gaining upon- me, as we galloped over the heavy 
ground. Whea nearly through the field, I perceived something 
glancing before us: it was water — a wide drain or ditch, a zeqnia 

2 


26 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


for irrigating the field. Like the magueys, it ran transversely 
to our course. 

“ That wilLstop him,” thought I , “ he must take to the right 
or left, and then ■’ 

My thoughts were interrupted. Instead of turning either to 
right or „ left, the Mexican headed his horse at the zequia, and 
the noble creature rushing forward, rose like a bird upon the 
wing, and cleared the canal ! 

I bad no time to expend in admiring the feat ; I hastened to 
imitate it, and galloping forward, I set myself for the leap. My 
brave<steed needed neither whip nor spur; he had seen the other 
leap the zequia, and he knew what was expected of him. With 
a bound, he went over, clearing the drain by several feet ; and 
then, as if , resolved upon bringing the affair to an end, he 
laid his head forward, and stretched himself at race-course 
speed. 

A broad grassy plain— a savannah — lay before us, and the 
hoofs of both horses, pursuer and pursued, now rang upon hard 
firm turf. The rest of the chase would have been a simple trial 
of speed, and I made sure of overhauling the mustang before he 
could reach the opposite side, when a new obstacle presented 
itself. A vast herd of cattle and horses, studded the savannah 
throughout its whole extent ; these, startled by our wild gallop, 
tossed their -heads, and ran affrighted in every direction, but fre- 
quently as otherwise, directly in our way. More than once, I 
was forced to rein in, to save my neck or my horse’s from being 
broken over a. fierce bull or a long-horned lumbering ox ; and 
more than once I was compelled to swerve from my course. 

What vexed me most was, that in this zigzag race, the mus- 
tang, from practice, perhaps, had the advantage; and while it 
continued, he increased his distance. We cleared the drove at 
leugth ; but to my . chagrin I perceived that we were nearly 
across the plain. As I glanced ahead, I saw the chappara! 
near, with taller trees rising over it; beyond, I saw the swell of 


MAKING A CAPTIVE. 


27 


a hill, with white walls upon its summit. It was the hacienda 
already mentioned: we were. riding directly for it. 

I was growing-anxious about the result. Should the horse* 
man reach the -thicket, I would be almost certain to lose him. 1 
dared not- let him escape. What would my men say, if I went 
back-without him? I had hindered the sentry from firing, and 
permitted to escape, perhaps a spy, perhaps some important per- 
sonage. His desperate, efforts to get off favored the supposition 
that he was one or the other. He must be taken ! 

Under the impulse of fresh .determination, I lanced the flanks 
of my horse more deeply than ever; he knew what was wanted, 
and stretched himself to his utmo*st. There were no more cattle, 
not an obstacle, and his superior speed soon lessened the distance 
between himself and the mustang. Ten ■ seconds more would 
do it. 

The ten- seconds, flew. by. I felt myself within- shooting dis- 
tance; I drew my. pistol from its holster. 

“Alto ! o yo tiro ” (Halt ! or I fire), I cried aloud. There' was 
no reply : the mustang.kept on ! “ Halt 1” I cried again, unwil 

••ling to take the life of a fellow-creature — “halt ! or you are a 
dead man 1” 

~]SO' reply again. 

There were not v six yards between myself and the Mexican. 
Riding. straight, behind him, I could have sent a bullet into his 
back. Some.secret-instiuctrestrained me; it was- partly, though 
not altogether, a feeling of -admiration : there was an. indefinable 
idea in my^mind at the moment. My finger rested on the trigger, 
and I could-not-draw it. 

“ He must-mot escape ! He is- nearing the trees 1 He must 
Dot be .allowed to enter the thicket ; I shall cripple the horse.” 

I looked for a place to-aim at ; should I hit him in the hips, 
he might stilhget off. Where ? 

At this moment, the animal wheeled, as if guided by his own 
impnlse-^perhaps by the knees of his rider — and -shot off in a 


28 


THE WAR- TRAIL. 


new direction. The object of this manoeuvre was to put space be* 
tween us. So far it was.successful ; but it gave me just the oppor 
tunity to aim as I wanted ; and levelling my pistol, I sent a bul 
let into the kidneys of the mustang. A single plunge forward 
was his last, and both horse and rider came to the ground. 

In an instant the latter had disengaged himself from his 
struggling steed, and stood upon his feet. Fancying he might 
still attempt to escape to the thicket, I spurred forward, pistol 
in hand, and pointed the weapon at his head. 

^ He had no. intention either of further flight or resistance; but 
facing the levelled tube, and looking me full in the face, he said 
with an air of perfect coolness : 

“ iVb matame . , cavallero ! Soy muger !” (Do not kill me, sir 1 
I am a woman 1) 


CHAPTER Y. 

MY CAPTIVE. 

“ Vo not kill me sir! I am a woman /” 

- This declaration scarcely astonished me; I was half prepared 
ibr it. During our wild gallop, I had noticed one or two cir- 
cumstances which led me to suspect that the spy I pursued was 
a female. As the mustang sprang over the zequia, the flowing 
skirt of the manga was puffed upward, and hung for some 
moments spread out in the air. A velvet bodice beneath, a 
tunic-like skirt, the tournure of the form, all impressed me as 
singular for a cavallero, however rich and young. The limbs I 
could not see, as the goat-skin armas-de-agna were drawn over 
them ; but I caught a glimpse of a gold spur, and the- heel of 
a tiny red. boot to which it was attached. The -clubbed' hair, 
too, loosened by the violent motion, sprang backward, and io 


MY CAPTIVE. 


29 


two thick plaits, slightly dishevelled, rested upon the croup of 
the horse. A young Indian’s might have done so, but his tres- 
ses would have been jet-black and coarse grained, whereas those 
under my eyes were soft, silky, and nut-brown. Neither the 
style of riding — a la Duchesse de Berri — nor the manlike cos- 
tume of, manga and hat, kindred me from forming my conclusions. 
Both the- style and costume are common to the rancher as of 
Mexico. Moreover, as the mustang made hist last double, I had 
caught a .near view of the, side face of his rider. The features 
of no man — not the Trojan shepherd, not Adonis nor Eudymion 
— were so exquisitely chiselled as they. Certainly a» woman I 
Her .declaration at once put an end to my conjectures, but, as I 
have said, did not astonish me. 

I was. astonished, however, by its tone and manner. Instead 
of being uttered in accents of alarm, it was pronounced as 
coolly as if the whole thing had been a jest 1 Sadness, not sup- 
plication, was the prevailing tone, which was further confirmed 
as she .knelt to the ground, pressed her lips to the muzzle of the 
still breathing .mustang, and exclaimed : 

“ Ay-de mi ! pobre yegua l muerte ! muerte P 1 (Alas me 1 poor 
mare 1 dead ! dead!) 

“ A woman ?” said I, feigning astonishment. My interroga- 
tory was unheeded ; she did not even look up. 

“ Ay-de-mi ! pobre yegua! Lola , Lolita P she repeated, as 
coolly as if the dead, mustang was the only object of her 
thoughts, and I, the armed assassin, -fifty miles from the spot ! 

“ You say you are a woman I again asked — in my embar- 
rassment scarcely knowing what to say. 

“ Si, senor ; nada mas — que quiere V.V (Yes, sir ; nothing 
more — w h a t do you want ?) As she made this reply, she rose 
to her feet, and stood confronting me without the slightest sem- 
blance of fear. So unexpected was the answer, both in tone 
and sentiment, that for the life of me I could not help breaking 
into a laugh. 


30 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


“ You are merry, sir. You hare made me sad ; you have 
killed my favorite l 77 

I shall not easily forget the look that -accompanied thesa 
words — sorrow, anger, contempt, defiance, were expressed in one 
and the same glance. My laughter was suddenly checked ; I 
felt humiliated in that -proud presence. 

“ Senorita, 77 I- replied, “I deeply -regret the necessity I have 
been .under : it might have been worSe ? 77 

“ And- how, pray ? — how worse ?” demanded she, interrupting 
me. 

“ My. pistol might have been aimed at yourself , but for a sus- 
picion’ 7 — 

tl Carr ambo !” cried she, again interrupting me, “it could not 
have been, worse 1 I- loved that creature -dearly — dearly as I 
do my- life — as I love my father — pobre yeguita — it a — ila !” 

And as -she thus wildly- expressed herself, she - bent down, 
passed her arms around the -neck of the mustang, and once more 
pressed her. lips to its velvet cheek. Then gently closing its 
eyelids, she.. rose to an erect attitude, and stood with folded arms, 
regarding the lifeless form with a sad and bitter expression of 
countenance. 

I scarcely knew what to say. I was in a dilemma with my 
fair captive. I would have given a month of my “ pay-roll 77 to 
have.restored the spotted mustang to life ; but as that was out 
of the question, I bethought me of some means of making 
restitution to its owner. An offer of money would not be deli- 
cate. What then ? 

A thought occurred to me, that, promised to. relieve me from 
my embarrassment. The eagerness of the rich Mexicans to 
obtain ouriarge American horses ^-frisomes, as theyrterm them 
— was well-known throughout the army. - Fabulous prices were 
often-paid for them by these ricos, who wanted them for- display 
upon the Paseo. We had many good half-bred bloods in the 
troop ; one of these, thought I, might be acceptable, even to a 


MY CAPTIVE. 


31 


^dy who had lost her- pet. I made the offer as delicately as 1 
could. It was jejected with. scorn ! 

“What, senor !” cried she, striking the ground with her foot 
till the rowels rang— “what? A. horse to me !” she 

continued, pointing to the plain : “ look there, sir ! There are 
a .thousand, horses ; they are -mine. Now, know the -value of 
your offer. Do I stand in need of a. horse?” 

“ But^Senorita,” stammered I, apologizingly “ these are horses 
of native race. The one I propose to ” 

“ Bah !” she exclaimed, interrupting me, and pointing to the, 
mustang ; “I would, not have exchanged that native for all the 
frisones in yourjroop. Not one of thenf w r as its-equal \ v 

A personal, slight would not have, called forth a- contra- 
diction ; yet this defiance had that effect. She had touched 
the. chord of my vanity — I might almost say, of my affection. 
With some pique I replied : 

“ One,, senorita ?” 

I looked, towards -Moro as I spoke. Her eyes followed mine, 
and she. stood for some . momenta gazing at him in silence. 
I watched the expression of her eye ; I saw it kindle into admi- 
ration as it swept over the gracefully curving outlines of my 
noble steed. He_ looked at the - moment, superb ; the short 
skurry haddrawn the. foam from his. lips, and flakes of it clung 
against his .neck and counter, contrasting finely with the shining 
black of his skin ; his sides heaved and fell in regular undula- 
tions, aud the smoke issued from his blood-red nostrils ; his eye 
was still on fire, and his neck proudly arched, as though- consci- 
ous of his lateAriumph, and the interest he was now exciting. 

For aHong while she stood gazing upon him, and though she 
spoke not a word, I saw that she -recognised his fine points. 

“You arejdght, cavallero,” said she at length, thoughtfully ; 
“ he,is.” 

Just then, a series of. reflections were passing through my 
mind, that rendered me extrerroly- uncomfortable : and I felt 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


33 

regret that I had so pointedIy_drawn her attention to the horse 
Would shejdemand him ? That was the -thought that troubled 
me. I had not promised her any horse in my troop, and Mora 
1 would not have given for herjierd of a Thousand ; but on the 
strength of the offer I had made, what if she should fancy him! 
The circumstances were awkward for a refusal ; indeed, under 
any circumstances refusal would have been painful. I began to 
feel that I could deny nothing. This- proud, -beautiful woman 
al r ead y«^i cided my, interest with JSloro ! 

My position was a delicate one ; fortunately, I was relieved 
from it by an incident that carried our thoughts into a new cur- 
rent ; the troopers who had followed me^at that moment 
rode up. 

She seemed, uneasy at their presence ; could not be won- 
dered at, considering their wild -garb and ?ocks. I ordered 

them back to their quarters. They stared fcf a moment at the 
fallen mustang with its. rich blood-stained, tv^piaga, at its late 
rider, and her picturesque garments ; and then, muUenng a few 
words to one another, obeyed the cider. I was cv** more 
alone with my captive 


CHAPTER VI. 


ISOLINA DE VARGAS. 


As soon as the men were out of hearing, 
tively : “ Tejanos V 1 

“ Some of them are Texans — not all ” 

“ You are their chief ?” 

“ I am.” 




she said 


“ Captain 'I presume ?” 




ISOLINA DE VARGAS. 


33 


“ That is_my>rank.” 

Andjiow, Senor Captain, am-J your captive ?” 

The,question took me by. sirprise, and, for the moment, I did 
not know -what -answer to make. The- excitement of the. chase, 
the-encounter, and its curious, developments — perhaps, above all 
other things, the bewitching Jaeauty of my-captive — had driven 
out of my mind the whole purpose of the pursuit ; and for- 
some minutes I had nob- been thinking of any result. The inter- 
rogatory, reminded me that I had a delicate-duty to perform. 
Was this lady a spy ?. 

Such a- supposition was by no means improbable, as any old 
campaigner can testify. “ Fair ladies — though never one so 
fair as -she- — have, ere now, served their..country in this- fashion. 
She may be the. bearer of some important-dispatch for the enemy. 
If so, and I permit her to go free, the consequences may be 
serious— vunpleasant even to myself.” Thus ran my reflections. 

On the other hand, I- disliked the duty of taking her back a 
prisoner. I feared to~execute it ; I. dreaded her displeasure. 1 
icished to he f riends with her~ I felt the influence of that myste- 
rious .power which transcends all strength — the power of-beauty. 
I had been bukten minutes in the company of this brown-skinned 
maiden, and already she r controlled my heart as though she had 
been its-mistress for.lifed 

I knew not ..how to reply. She saw that I hesitated, and 
again put the question : 

“Am Lyour captive ?” 

“I Tear, senorita, I am^yours” 

I was prompted to this declaratiofi, partly to. escape from a 
direct answer, and partly .giving way to the passion already fast 
gathering in my bosom. It was n<fi -coquetry on my part, no 
desire to make a pretty passage of words. Though I spoke ordy 
from impulse, % was . serious ; and with no little, anxiety did I 
watch the eflfedt of my speech. 

Her largeXi^strous eyes rested upon me, at first with a puzzled 
- 2 * 


34 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


expression ; this gradually .changed to one of more significance 
— one that pleased me better. She seemed for a moment to 
throw aside her indifference, and regarded me with more atten- 
tion. I fancied, from the. glance she gave, that she was con- 
tented with what I had said. For all that, the slight curl upon 
her pretty lip had a provoking air of -triumph in it ; and she 
resumed her proud hauteur as she replied : 

“ Come, cavallero, this is idle * compliment. Am I free 
to go ?” 

I wavered betwixt duty and over -politeness : a compromise* 
offered itself. 

“ Lady/’ said I, approaching her, and looking as-seriouslv as 
I could into hen-beautiful eyes, “ if you give me yqur word that 
you are not, a spy, you are free to go : your word — I ask nothing 
more.” 

I prescribed these conditions rather in a tone of entreaty than 
commaud. I affected-sternness, but my countenance must have 
mocked me. 

My captive broke into unrestrained .laughter, crying out at 
intervals : 

“I a*. spy 1-^-aspy ! Ha, ha, ha ! Senor Capitan, you are 
jesting ?” 

“ I hope, senorita, you are in earnest. You are -no spy, then ? 
— you bear no dispatch for our enemy ?” 

“ Nothing of the sort, mio capitan ;” and she- continued her 
light laughter. 

“ Why,- then, did yoja try to make away from us ?” 

“ Ah, cavallero ! are yOu not/Tejanos ? Do not be offended' 
when Itell you that_your- people bear but amindifferent reputa- 
tiomamong us Mexicans.” 

“ But your attempt to escape was, to say the least, rash and 
imprudent ; yon risked life by it.” 

“ Carrambo , yes 1 I perceive I did ;” and she looked signi* 
ficantly at the mustar.g, while a bitter smile played upon her 


ISOLINA DE VARGAS. 


35 


lips. “ L perceive it now ; I did not then. I did not think 
there was a_ horseman in all your troop could come up with me. 
Merced ! there was- one. You hava overtaken me : you alone 
could have~done it.” 

As she uttered these words, her large brown eyes were oncC. 
more, turned upon me — not in a, fixed gaze, but- wandering. She 
ecanned-me from the forage-cap on my crown to the spur upon 
my heel. I watched her eye with eager interest : I fancied that 
its scornful expression wa,s giving way ; I fancied there was a 
ray of .tenderness in the glance. I would have given the world 
to have ..divined her .thoughts at that moment. 

Our eyes met, and parted in mutual embarrassment — at> least 
I .fancied so ; for on turning again, I saw that her head drooped, 
and her gaze was directed downward, as if some new thought 
occupied her. 

For some moments, both jvere silent. We might have 
remainedJonger thus, but it occurred to me that I was acting 
rudely. The lady was -still my captive. I had not yet given 
her permission to depart : I hastened to tender it. 

“ Spy or no spy, senorita, I shall not detain you. I shall bear 
the risk : you are-free to-go.” 

Gracias L cavalier o ! And now, since you have behaved so 
handsomely, I shall set your mind at , rest about the risk. 
Read !” 

She, handed me a folded paper ; at a glance I recognised the 
safe-guard of th^ommander-in chief^jenjoining upon all to respect 
its bearer-^-the Dona Isolina de Vargas. 

“ Yoitperceive, mio- capitan, I was. not your captive after all ? 
ha ! ha l ha 1” 

ii Lady, you are too generous not to pardon the rudeness 
to -which you have beemsubjected V' 

“ Freely, capitan — freely.” 

“ I shudder at thought of the,risk you have run. Why did 
vou act with such imprudence ? Your sudden flight at sight of 


36 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


our picket caused suspicion, and of course it was our duty to 
follow and capture you. With the safe-guard, you had no cause 
for- fl/ght.” 

11 Ha ! it was that very safe-guard that caused me to fly.” 

“ The .safe-guard, sehorita? Pray, explain 1” 

“ Can I trust your prudence, capitan ?” 

“ I promise” 

“ Know, then, that I was not certain you were Americanos , 
for aught I could see, you might have been a -guerilla of my 
countrymen . How would it be if this paper, and sundry others 
I carry, were to fall into the hands of Canales ? You perceive, 
capitan, we fear our friends more than our enemies” 

I now fully comprehended the. motive of her wild flight. 

“You speak. Spanish too. well, raio capitan,” continued she. 
“Had you. cried ‘Halt!’ in your native tongue, I should at 
once have pulled up, and perhaps-saved my pet. Ah, me ! — 
yobre yegua /” 

As she uttered the last exclamation, her feelings once more 
overcame her ; and sinking down upou her knees, she passed her 
arms around the neck of the mustang, now stiff and cold. Her 
face was buried in the long thick mane, and I could perceive the 
tears sparkling like dew-drops over the tossed hair. 

“ Pobre Lola ” she continued, “ I have good cause to grieve ; 
I had reason to love you well. More than once you, saved me 
from the fierce Lipau and the brutal Comanche. What am i to 
do now ? I dread the Indian foray ; I shall tremble at every 
sign of the savage. I dare no more venture upon the prairie *, 
I dare not go abroad ; I must tamely stay at home. Mia que * 
ridal you were my wings : they are clipped — I fly no more.” 

All this was uttered in a tone of extreme bitterness ; and I, I 
who so loved my brave steed, could appreciate her. feelings. 
With the hope of imparting even a little consolation, 1 repeated 
my offer. 


ISOLINA DE VARGAS. 


37 

“ Senorita,” I said, “ I have swift horses in my troop — some 
of noble race ” 

“ You have jio horse in your troop I value.” 

“ You have not seen them* all ?” 

“ All — every one of thera^-to-day, as you. filed out of the 
city.” 

“ Indeed 1” 

“ Indeed, yes, noble capitan. I saw yoi as you carried your- 
self so cavalierly at the head of your troop of filibusteros — ha, 
ha, ha I” 

“ Senorita, I. saw not you.” 

“ Carrambo ! it was not for the want of using your eyes. 
There was not a balcon or reja into which you did not glance — 
not a smile in the whole street you did not seem anxious to reci- 
procate — ha, .ha, ha! I fear, Senor Capitan, you are the Don 
Juan deTenorio of the North.” 

“ Lady, it is* not my character.” 

“ Nonsense, you are proud of it. I never saw man who was 
not. But come ! a truce to badinage. About the horse — you 
have none in your troop Lvalue, save one." 

I trembled as she spoke. 

“ It is he” she continued, pointing to Moro. 

I felt as if I should sink into the earth. My embarrassment 
prevented me for some time from replying. She noticed my 
hesitation, but remained silent, awaiting my answer. 

“ Senorita,” I stammered out at length, “ that steed is a great 
favorite — an,old and tried friend. If you desire— to possess him, 
he is — he is at your service.” 

In emphasizing the “ if,” I was appealing to her generosity. 
It wasJo.no purpose. 

“ Thank you,” she replied, coolly ; “ he shall be well cared for. 
No floubt he will serve my purpose. How is his^mouthl” 

I was choking with vexation, and could not reply. I began 

Kate her. 


38 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


“Let me try him,” continued she. , “ Ah ! you have a curb 
bit — that will do ; but it is mot equal to ours. I use a mame- 
luke. Help me to -that_lazo.” 

She_pointed to aiazo of white Jiorsebair, beautifully plaited, 
that was eoiled upon the saddle of the mustang. 

I unloosed the rope-^mechanically I did — and in the same way 
adjusted it to the horn of my saddle. I noticed that the noose- 
ring was of silver ! I shortened the leathers to the proper length. 

“Now, capitan 1” cried she, gathering the reins in her small 
gloved hand — “ now I shall see how he performs.” 

At the word, she --bounded into the saddle, her small foot 
scarcely touching the stirrup. She had thrown off her manga, 
and her woman’s form was nowxlisplayed in all its undulating 
outlines. The silken skirt draped down to her ankles, and under- 
neath appeared the tiny red Loot, the glancing spur, and the 
lace ruffle of her snow-white calzondllos. A scarlet sash bound 
her waist, with its fringed^ends drooping to the saddle ; and the 
tight, bodice,, lashed with lace, displayed the full rounding of her 
bosom, as it rose and . fell in quiet, regular beating — for she 
seemed in no way excited or nervous. Her full round eye 
expressed only calmness and courage. 

I stood, transfixed with admiration. I thought of the Ama- 
zons : were they beautiful like her \ With a troop of such war- 
riors one might conquer a world ! 

A fierce-looking bull, moved by curiosity or otherwise, had 
separated from the -herd, and was seen approaching the spot 
where we were. This was gust what the fair rider, wanted. At 
a -touch of the_ spur, the horse .sprang forward, and galloped 
directly for the bull. The latter,, cowed at the sudden onset, 
turned and . ran ; but his swift pursuer soon came within lazo 
distance. The_ noose circled in the air, and,, launched forward, 
was v seen to settle around the horns of the animal. The horse 
was now wheeled round, and headed in an opposite direction. 
The rope tightened with a sudden .pluck, and the bull was thrown 


ISOLINA DE VARGAS. 


39 


with violence on the plain, where he lay., stunned and apparently 
lifeless. Before he had dime to recover himself, the rider turned 
her horse, trotted up to the prostrate animal,- bent over in the 
saddle^unfastened the. noose, and, after, coiling it upon her arm, 
came galloping back. 

“ Superb ! — ^magnificent !” she. exclaimed, leaping from the 
saddle, and .gazing at the steed. “ Beautiful ! — most beautiful 1 
Ah, Lola, poor Lola ! I fear I shall soon, forget thee I” The 
last words were addressed to the mustang. Then turning to me, 
she added : “ And this, horse is mine ?” 

“ Yes*, lady, if you will it,” I replied, somewhat cheerlessly, for 
I felt as if my best friend was about to be taken from me. 

“ But Ldo^^-will it,” said.she, with an air of determination ; 
and then breaking into. a laugh, she. cried out : “Ha bcapitan, 
I -know your.. thoughts. Think you I cannot , appreciate the 
sacrifice^you would make ? Keep your-favorite. Enough that 
one of. us should suffer and she- pointed to the mustang. 
“Keep the. brave- black ; you well know how to ride him. 
Were he, mine, no mortal could -influence me to part with him.” 

“ There is. buLone who could influence, me .” 

As I said .this, I looked anxiously for the answer. It wms not 
in words I expected it, but in the-glance. Assuredly there was 
no_frown ; I even, fancied I could detect a smile — a blending of 
triumph and.. satisfaction. It was, short-lived, and my heart fell 
again under her -light laugh. 

il Ha, ha, ha 1 That one is of course your lady-love. Well, 
noblejjapitan, if you are. true to her, as to your brave steed, she 
will have no ...cause to doubt your fealty. I must leave, yoit. 
Adios 1” 

“ Shall Imot be permitted to accompany you to your home V 

“ Gracias no, seiior. I am at home. Mira! my father’s 
house She pointed tc the hacienda. “ Here is-one who will 
look to the -remains of poor. Lola and she.. signalled to a 
raduero at that moment coming from the -herd. “ Remember, 


40 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


capitan, you are an enemy ; I must not accept your politeness 
neither may I offer you hospitality. Ah! you know not us — 
you know not the tyrant, Santa Anna. Perhaps even at this 

moment hisdspies are”- She glanced- suspiciously around as 

she spoke. “ O-Heavens 1” she -exclaimed with a start, as her 
eyes fell upon the form of a man advancing down the hill. 

‘ Santisima Virgen ! it is Ijurra 1” 

“ Ijurra ?” 

“ Only my cousin ; but” She hesitated, and then sud 

denly changing to an expression of entreaty, she continued : 
“ 0 leave me, senor ! Por amor Dios ! leave me ! Adieu, 
adieu !” 

Though Llonged to have a nearer view ot Ijurra,” the hur- 
ried-earnestness of her manner overcame me; and without 
making other reply than a simple “ Adios,” I vaulted into my 
saddle, and.rode off. 

On reaching the border of the woods, curiosity — a stronger 
feeling, perhaps-^mastered my politeness ; and, under the pre- 
tence of adjusting my stirrup, I turned in the saddle, and glanced 
back. Ijurra had, arrived upon the ground. I behpld a tall, 
dark man, dressed in the usuaLcostume of the ricos of -Mexico : 
dark cloth polka jacket, blue military trousers, with scarlet sash 
around his waist, and low-crowned, broad-brimmed hat upon hi? 
head. He appeared about thirty years of age, whiskered, 
moustached, and, after a fashion, handsome. It was not his 
age, nor his personal, appearance, nor yet his^cstume, that had 
my attention at the moment. I watched only his actions. He 
stoocLconfronting his cousin, or rather he stood over her, for she 
appeared to cower.before.him in an attitude of fear I He held 
a .paper in one hand, and I saw he was pointing to it as he 
spoke. There was a fierce, vulture-like expression upon his 
face; and even in the distance I could tell, from the tones 
of his voice, that he was talking angrily. Why should she fear 
him ? Why submit to such rude rebuke ? He must have 


AN ORDER TO FORAGE. 


41 


a strange power over that spirit who could force it thus tamely 
to listen to reproach? 

These were my -reflections. My impulse was to drive the 
spurs into the .sides of my horse, and gallop back upon the 
ground. I might have done so had the scene lasted much longer; 
but I saw the lady suddenly leave the spot, and walk rapidly in 
the direction of theJiacienda. 

I wheeled round again, and -plunging under the shadows of 
the forest* soon fell into a road leading to the rancberia. My 
thoughts. full of the incident that had just passed, I rode uncon- 
sciously, leaving my horse to his own guidance. My reverie 
was interrupted by the challenge of one of my own sentries, 
which admonished me that I had arrived at the entrance of the 
village. 


CHAPTER VII. 
an order to forage. 

My adventure did not end with the day ; it was continued 
into the night, and repeated in my dreams. I rode the chase 
over again ; I dashed through the magueys, I leaped the zcquia, 
and galloped through the affrighted herd ; I beheld the spotted 
mustang stretched lifeless upon the plain, its rider bending and 
weeping over it. That face of rare. beauty, that form of exqui* 
site. proportion, that eye rotund and noble, that tongue so free, 
and heart so bold— all were again, encountered in dreamland. A 
dark face was in the,.vision, and at intervals crossed the picture 
'like a cloud. It was the face of Ijurra* 

I .think it was Jthat awoke me, but the reveille of the bugle 
was in my ears as I leaped from my couch. 


42 


THE WAR- TRAIL. 


For some moments I was under the . impression that the 
adventure had^been a dream : an. object that hung on the .oppo- 
site wall game under my eyes, and recalled the reality — it was 
my paddle, over the. holsters of which lay a coil of white horse- 
hair rope, with a. silver ring at the end. I remembered the 
lazo. 

When fairly awake, I reviewed my yesterday’s adventure 
frora.first to last. 1 tried to think calmly upon it ; I tried to get 
out of my thoughts, and return. seriously to my duties. A vain 
attempt 1 The more I reflected upon the incident, the more I 
becamejjonscious of the powerful interest its* heroine had excited 
within me. Interest,, indeed 1 Say rather* passion — a. passion 
that in one single hour had grown as large as my heart 1^ ^ 

It was-not the -first love, of my life. I was niglv thirty years 
of age. I had been, enamored before— more than once, it may 
be — and I understood what theufeeling was. I needed no Cupid 
to tell me I was indove again — to the very ..ends of my fingers. 

To paintAhe object of my .passion is a task I shall not attempt. 
Beauty like hers must be left to the imagination. Think of the 
woman you yourself _ love or have, loved ; fancy her in her fair- 
est moments, in .bower or boudoir — perchance a blushing bride 

— and you may form some idea No, no r no 1 you could 

never have, looked upon woman so lovely as Isolina de Vargas. 

Oh! that I. could fix that fleeting phantom of. beauty — that 
I couid.paint that- likeness for the world to admire ! It cannot 
be. The most, puissant pen is. powerless, the,brightest color too 
cold. Though deeply graven upon the tablets of my heart, I 
cannot multiply the impression. 

It is. idle to talk of wavy, hair, profuse and glossed of 

almond eyes with long dark fringes — of pearl-white teeth, and 
cheeks tinted with -damascene. All . these had she, but they are 
not pecul ^characteristics. Other women are thus gifted. The 
traits of her beauty lay in the intellectual as much as the physi- 
cal— in a happy combination of both. The soul, the spirit, had 


AN ORDER TO FORAGE. 


43 


its share in producing this incomparable picture. It was to 
behold the 4>lay of those, noble features, to. watch the changing 
cheek, the varying _smile, the falling lash, the flashing eye, the 
glance now .tender, now sublime — it was to look oo. all this, to 
be -impressed with an idea of the divines t- loveliness. 

* * * * * * * 

As I .ate my frugal breakfast, such a vision was passing before 
me. I contemplated the future with pleasant hopes, but not 
without feelings of uneasiness. I had not forgotten the abrupt 
parting— *-no invitation to renew the acquaintance, no hope, no 
prospect that I. should ever behold that beautiful woman again, 
unless blind^chance should prove my friend. 

I am .not a-fatalist, and I therefore resolved not to. rely upon 
mere.destinv, but, if possible, to help it a little in its evolution. 

Before I had finished my coffee, a, dozen schemes had passed 
through my mind, all tending towards .one object — the renewal 
of my acquaintance with Isoliua de Yargas. Unlessffavored by 
some lucky ,accident, or, what was more desirable, by the lady 
herself, I knew we might never meet again. In such times, it 
was not likely she would be much “ out of doors f and in a few 
days, hours perhaps, I might be -ordered en route never more to 
return to that interesting outpost. As the district was, of 
course, under-martial law, and I was de facto -dictator, you will 
imagine that I might_easily procure the right of entry anywhere. 
Not .so. Whatever be the .license of the rude soldier as regards 
the common people of a conquered country, the position of the 
officer with its. higher class is essentially different. If a -gentle- 
man, he naturally feels a delicacy in making any advances 
towards an acquaintance ; and his honor restrains him from th 
freer forms of introduction. To-take?ad vantage -of his -position 
of- power would be a positive jnean ness, of which a true gentle- 
man cannot be guilty. Besides, there may be .rancour on the 
part of the conquered — there usually is ; but even -when no 
feeling exists, another barrier stands /n the way of free asso- 


44 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


ciation between the officer and “ society” The latter feels that 
the position of affairs will not be permanent ; the enemy will in 
time evacuate, and then the vengeance of mob-patriotism is to 
be dreaded. Never did the ricos of. Mexico feel more secure 
than while under the protection of the American army. Many 
of them were disposed to be friendly, but the phautom of the 
future, with its mob emeuies , stared them in the face, and under 
thisMread they were forced to adopt a hypocritical exclusiveness. 
Epaulettes must not be seen glancing through the windows of 
their drawing-rooms 1 

Under such circumstances, my situation was difficult enough. 
I might. gaze upon the outside walls of that handsome hacienda 
till my heart ached, but how was I to effect an entrance ? 

To charge a fort, a battery, an intrenched camp — to storm a 
castle, or break a solid square — one or all would have been child’s 
play compared with the difficulty of crossing that glacial line of 
etiquette that separated me from my beautiful enemy. 

To effect this purpose, a dozen - schemes were passed through 
my mind, and rejected, till my eyes at length rested upon the 
most-interesting object in the apartment — the little white~rope 
that hung upon my saddle-bow. In the- lazo, I recognized my 
‘ forlorn-hope.’ That pretty implement must be returned to its 
owner. I myself should take it home l So far destiny should be 
guided by me ; beyond, I should have to put my trust in destiny. 

Uthink best under the influence of a cigar ; and lighting one, 
I ascended to the azotea, to complete my little scheme. 

I had scarcely made two turns of the roof, when a horseman 
galloped into the plaza. He was in dragoon uniform, and I saw 
he was an orderly from head-quarters, and inquiring for the com- 
mander of the outpost. One of the men pointed to me ; and the 
orderly trotting forward, drew up in front of the alcalde’s house, 
and announced to me that he was the bearer of a dispatch from 
the general-in-chief, at the same time showing a folded paper. I 
directed him to pass it up on the point of his sabre, which he did j 


AN ORDER TO FORAGE. 


45 


then saluting me, he turned his horse and galloped back as 
he had come. 

$ opened the dispatch, and read: 

“ Head-quarters, Army of Occupation, 
July ~lh t 1846. 

“ Sir — You will take a sufficient number of your men, and pro- 
ceed to the hacienda of Don Ramon de Vargas, in the neigh- 
bourhood of your station. You will there find 5,000 head ot 
beeves, which you will cause to be driven to the camp of the 
American army, and delivered to the commissary-general. You 
will 5nd the necessary drivers upon the ground, and a portion of 
you^troop will form the escort. The enclosed note will enable 
you to understand the nature of your duty. 


’•Captain Warfield.” “A. A. Adjutant-general.” 

“ Surely,” thought I, as I finished reading — “ surely there is a 
“ Providence that shapes our ends.” Just as I was cudgelling 
my grains for some scheme of introduction to Don Ramon de 
Vargas, here comes one ready fashioned to my hand.” 

I thought no more about the-lazo : the rope was no longer an 
object of prime interest. Trimmed and embellished with the 
graceful- excuse of “duty,” I should now ride boldly up to the 
hacienda, and enter its gates with the confident air of a welcome 
gueet. -Welcome indeed ! A contract for 5000 beeves, and at 
war-prices ! A-good -stroke of business on the part of the old 
Don. Of course, I shall see him-t-“ embrace him” — hobnob with 
him over a glass of Canario or Xeres — get upon the most inti- 
mate terms, and so be “ asked back.” I am usually popular with 
old gentlemen, and I trusted to my bright star to place me en 
rapport with Don Ramon de Vargas. The coralling of the cattle 
would occupy some time — a brace of hours at the least. That 
would be outside work, and I could intrust it to my lieuterant 
or a sergeant. For myself, I was determined to stay by the 


46 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


walls. The Don must go out to look after fiis vaqueros, It 
would be rude to leave me alone. He would introduce me to 
his daughter--he could not do less : a customer on so large a 

scale 1 We should be left to ourselves, and then Ha ! Hjur- 

ra ! I had forgotten Aim/, Would he be there ? 

The recollection of this man fell like a shadow over the bright 
fancies I had conjured up. 

A dispatch from head-quarters calls for- prompt attention, and 
mj reflections were cut short by the necessity of carrying the 
order into execution. Without loss of time, I issued orders foi 
about fifty of the rangers to “ boot and saddle.’’ 

I was about to give more than ordinary attention to my toilet, 
when it occurred to me I might as well first read the “ note’' 
referred to in the dispatch. I opened the paper ; to my surprise, 
the document was in Spanish. This did not puzzle me, and I 
read : 

“ The 5000 beeves are ready for you, according to the contract, 
but I cannot take upon me to deliver them. They must he taken 
from me with show of force ; and even a little rudeness on the part 
of those you send would not be out of place. My vaqueros are 
at your service, but / must not command them. You may press 
them. 

“Ramon de Yargas.” 

This note was addressed to the commissary-general of the Ameri- 
can army. Its meaning, though to the uninitiated a little ob 
scure, was to me as clear as. noonday ; and although it- gave me 
a high opinion of the administrative talents of Don Ramon de 
Yargas, it was by no means a welcome document. It rendered 
null- every act of the fine programme I had sketched out. By its 
directions, there was to be no “embracing,” no hobnobbing over 
wine, no friendly chat with the Don, no lete-d-tele with his beauti- 
ful daughter — no ; but, on the contrary, I was to ride up with 
a swagger, bang the doors, threaten the trembling porter, kick 


AN ORDER TO FORAGE. 


47 


the peons, and demand from their master 5000 head of beef-cat« 
tie — all in true freebooting style ! 

A nice figure I shall cut, thought I, in the eyes of Isolina ; 
but a little reflection convinced me that that intelligent creature 
would be in the secret. Yes, she will understand my motives, 
I can act with as much mildness as circumstances will permit. — 
My Texan lieutenant will do the kicking of the peons, and that 
without much pressing. If she be not cloistered, I will have a 
glimpse at her ; so here goes. “ To Horse /” 

The bugle gave the signal ; fifty rangers — with Lieutenants 
Holingsworth and Wheatley — leaped into their saddles, and next 
moment were filing by twos from the plaza, myself at their head. 

A twenty minutes’ trot brought us to the frout gate of the 
hacienda, where we halted. The great door, massive and jail- 
like, was closed, locked, and barred ; the shutters of the windows 
as well. Not a soul was to be seen outside, not even the ap- 
parition of a frightened peon. I had given my Texan lieutenant 
his cue ; he knew enough of Spanish for the purpose. 

Flinging himself out of the saddle, he approached the gate, 
and commenced hammering upon it with the butt of his pistol. 

“ Ambre la puerta /” (Open the door !) cried he. 

No answer. 

“ La puerta — la puerta /” he repeated in a louder ton**. Still 
no answer. 

44 Ambre la puerta !” once more vociferated the lieutenant, at 
the same time thundering on the woodwork with his weapon. 

When the noise ceased, a faint “ Quienes 7” (Who is it ?) was 
heard from within. 

“ Yo /” hawled Wheatley, “ ambre ! ambre /” 

“ Si, senor ,” answered the voice, in a somewhat tremulous key* 

“ Anda ! anda ! Somos hombres de bienA (Quick then I We 
are honest men.) 

A rattling of chains and shooting of bolts now commenced, 
and lasted for at least a couple of minutes, at the end of which 


48 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


time the great folding-doors opened inward, displaying to view 
the swarthy leather-clad portero , the brick-paved saguan, and a 
portion of the patio , or courtyard within. 

As soon as the door was fairly open, Wheatley made a rnsli at 
the trembling porter, caught him by the jerkin, boxed both his 
ears, and then commanded him, in a loud voice, to summon the 
dueno ! - This conduct, somewhat unexpected on the part of the 
rangers, seemed to be just to their taste ; and I could hear be- 
hind me the whole troop.chuckling in half-suppressed laughter. 
Guerilleros as they were, they hadn wer been allowed much 
license in their dealings with the inhabitants-Mffie non-combatants 
— of the country, and much less had they witnessed such con- 
duct on the part of their officers. Indeed, it was cause of com- 
plaint in the ranks of the American army, and with many officers 
too, that even- hostile Mexicans were treated with a lenient 
consideration denied to themselves. Wheatley’s behaviour, 
therefore, touched a chord in the hearts of our following, that 
vibrated pleasantly enough ; they began to believe that the cam- 
paign was about to become a little more jolly. 

“ Senor” stammered the porter, “the du — du — dueno has given 
or — orders — he wi — wi — will not s — see any one.” 

“ Will not !” echoed Wheatley ; “ go, tell him he must F 

“Yes, amigo,” I said soothingly ; for I began to fear the man 
would be too badly frightened to deliver his message. “ Go, say 
to your master that an American officer has business with him. 
and must see him immediately.” 

The man went off, after a little more persuasion from the free 
hand of Wheatley, of course leaving the gates open behind him. 

We did. not wait for his return. The patio looked inviting; 
and directing Holingsworth to remain outside with the men, and 
the Texan lieutenant to follow me, I headed my horse for the 
great archway, and rode in. 


DON RAMON. 


49 


CHAPTER VIII. 

DON RAMON. 

i 

On entering the courtyard, a somewhat novel scene presented 
itself — a Spanish picture, with’ some transatlantic touches. The 
\ patio of a Mexican house is its proper front. Here you no 
longer look upon jail-like doors and windows, but facades gaily 
frescoed, curtained verandahs, aud glazed sashes that reach to 
the ground. The patio of Don Ramon’s mansion was paved 
with brick. A fountain, with its tank of japanned mason- work, 
stood in the centre ; orange-trees stretched their fronds over 
the water : their golden globes and white wax-like flowers per- 
fumed the atmosphere, which, cooled by the constant evapora- 
tion of the jet cTeau, felt fresh aud fragrant. Round three sides 
of the court extended a verandah, its floor of painted tiles ris- 
ing but a few inches above the level of the paved court. A row 
of portalcs supported the roof of this verandah, and the whole 
corridor was railed in, and curtained. The curtains were close- 
drawn, and except at one point — the entrance between two of 
the portales — the corridor was completely screened from our 
view, and consequently all the windows of the house, which 
opened into the verandah. No human face greeted our searching 
glances. In looking to the rear, into, the great corral , or cattle- 
yard, we could see numerous peons in their brown leathern 
dresses, with naked legs aud sandalled feet ; vaqueros in all their 
grandeur of velveteens, bell-buttons, and gold or silver lace ; 
with a number of women and young girls in colored nagnas and 
rebosos. A busy scene was presented in that quarter. It was 
the great cattle enclosure, for the estate of Don Ramon de 

3 


THE WAK-TBAIL. 




Vargas was a hacienda de ganados, or grand cattle-farm — a- title 
which in no way detracts from the presumed respectability ot its 
owner, many of the noble hidalgos of Mexico being only graziers 
on a~large scale. 

On entering the patio, I only glanced back at the corral ; my 
eyes were busy with the curtained verandah, and, failing there, 
were carried up to the azotea, in hopes of discovering the object 
of my thoughts. The house, as I have elsewhere stated, was 
but a single story in height, and from the saddle, I could almost 
look into the azotea. I could see that it was a sanctuary of 
rare plants, and the broad leaves and bright corollas of some of 
the taller ones appeared over the edge of the parapet. Abun- 
dance of fair flowers I could perceive, but not- that for which I 
was looking. No face yet showed, no voice greeted us with a 
welcome. The shouts of the vaqueros, the music of singing-birds 
caged along the corridor, and the murmur of the fountain, were 
the only sounds. The two former suddenly became hushed, as 
the hoofs of our horses rang upon the stone pavement, and the 
heedless water alone continued to utter its soft monotone. Once 
more my eyes swept the curtain, gazing intently into the few 
apertures left by a careless draping ; once more they sought the 
azotea, and glanced along the parapet : my scrutiny still re- 
mained unrewarded. 

Without exchanging a word, Wheatley and I sat silent in our 
saddles, awaiting the return of the portero. Already the 
peons, vaqueros, and wenches had poured in through the back 
gateway, and stood staring with astonishment at the unexpected 
guests. After a considerable pause, the tread of feet wms heard 
upon the corridor, and presently the messenger appeared, and 
announced that the dueno was coming. In a minute after one 
of the curtains was drawn back, and an old gentleman made his 
appearance behind the railing. He was a person of large frame, 
and although slightly stooping with age, his step was firm, and 
his whole aspect bespoke a wonderful energy and resolution 


DON RAMON. 


51 


His eyes were large and brilliant, shadowed by heavv brows, 
npon which the hair still retained its dark color, although that 
of his head was white as snow. He was simply habited — in a 
jacket of nankeen cloth, and wide trousers of like material. He 
wore neither waistcoat nor cravat. A full white shirt of finest 
linen covered his breast, and a sash of dull blue color was twisted 
round his waist. On his head was a costly hat of the “ Guay- 
aquil grass,” and in his fingers a husk cigarrito, smoking at the 
end. 

Altogether, the- aspect of Don Ramon — for it was he — despite 
its assumed sternness, was-pleasing and intelligent ; and I should 
have relished a friendly chat with him, even upon his own 
account. 

This, however, was out of the question. I must, abide by the 
spirit of my orders; the-farce must be played out ; so, touching 
the flanks of my horse, X rode forward to the edge of the veran- 
dah, and placed myself vis-a-vis to the Don. 

“ Are you Don Ramon de Vargas?” 

“ Si, senor,” was the reply, in a tone of angry astonish- 
ment. 

“ I am au. officer of the. American army” — I spoke loud, and 
in-Spanish, of course, for the benefit of the peons and vaqueros. 
“ I am. sent to offer you a contract to, supply the army with 
beeves. I have here an order from the. general-in-chief ” 

“ I havemo beeves for sale,” interrupted Don Ramon in a loud 
indignant voice; “ I shall have nothing to do with the American 
army.” 

“Then, sir,” retorted I, “I must take your. beeves without 
your consent. You will be. paid for them, but take them I 
must ; my orders.require that I should do so. Moreover, your 
vaqueros-must accompany us, and drive the cattle to the Ameri- 
can camp.” 

As I said this, L signalled to Holingsworth, who rode in with 
jtkis following ; and then the whole troop, filing through the back 


52 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


gateway, began to collect the frightened vaqueros, and set them 
about their work. 

“ I protest against this robbery I” shouted Don Ramon. “ It 
is. infamous — contrary to the laws of civilized warfare. I shall 
appeal to my .government — to yours — I shall have redress.” 

“You shall have, payment, Don Ramon,” said I, apparently 
trying to pacify him. 

“Payment, carrambo ! — payment from robbers, filibus - 
ter os ” 

“ Come, come, old gentleman !” cried Wheatley, who was 
only- half ‘ behind the scenes, and who spoke rather in earnest, 
“ keep a good tongue in your head, or you may. lose something 
of more walue to you than your cattle. Remember -whom you 
are talking to.” 

“ Tejanos Madronos !” hissed Don Ramon, with an earnest ap- 
plication of thedatter phrase that would certainly have brought 
Wheatley V. revolver from his belt, had - 1 not, at the moment, 
whispered a word in the lieutenant’s ear. 

“Hang the- old rascal 1” muttered he, in. reply to me; “I 
thought he -was in earnest. Look here, old fellow !” he con- 
tinued, addressing himself to Don Ramon, “don’t you be-scared 
about the - dollars. Uncle Sam’s a liberal -trader and a good 
paymaster. I wish your beef was mine, and I had Aw promise 
to pay for it. So take, things a little- easier, if you please ; and 
don’t be so-free of your ‘ filibusteros’ and ‘ ladrones :’ freeborn 
Texans ain’t used to such talk.” 

Don Ramon suddenly cut. short the. colloquy by angrily clos- 
ing the curtains, and hiding himself from our sight. 

During the whole . scene, I had great -difficulty in controlling 
my^ countenance. I could perceive that the Mexicau labored 
under a -similar difficulty. There was a Jaughing devil in the 
corner of his .keen eye that required, restraint ; and I thought 
once or twice either he or I should lose our equanimity. I cer- 
tainly should have done so, but that my heart and eyes wer 3 


UN PAPELCITO. 


53 


most of the time in. other quarters. As for the Don, he was 
playing an important part ; and a suspicion of his» hypocrisy, on 
the. minds of some of the leathern-clad greasers who listened to 
the dialogue, might have., afterwards brought him to trouble. 
Most of them were his own domestics and retainers, but not all. 
There were free rancheros among them — some who belonged to 
the pueblita itself— some, perchance, who had figured in pronunr 
ciamentos — who voted at elections, and called themselveS'afeTis. 
The Don,, therefore, had good reasons for assuming a character; 
and well did the old gentleman.sustain it. 

As he drew the curtain, his half-whispered 11 Adios, capitan 1” 
heard only by. myself, sounded full of sweetness and •promise; 
and I felt rather contented as I straightened myself in the sad- 
dle, and issued the order for ricving his cattle. 


CHAPTER IX. 

“UN PAPELCITO.” 

Wheatley now rode after the troop, which with Holingsworth 
had already entered the corral. A band of drivers was speedily 
pressed into service; and with these the two lieutenants proceeded 
to the great plain at the foot of the hill, where most of Don 
Ramon’s cattle were at pasture. By this^arrangement I was left 
alone, if I except the company of half-a-dozen slippered wenches, 
the deities of the eocina, who, clustered in the corner of the patio, 
eyed me with mingled looks of curiosity and fear. The. verandah 
curtains remained hermetically, closed, and though I glanced at 
everv aperture that offered a chance to an observing eye, no one 
appeared to be stirring behind them. 

“ Too high-bred — perhaps indifferent ?” thought I. Tholatter 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


5 * 

supposition was by no means gratifying to my vanity, “ After 
all, now that the others are gone out of the way, Don Ramon 
might .ask me to step inside. Ah 1 no — these mestizo women 
would tell tales : I perceive it would never do. I may as well 
give it up. I shall ride out, and join the troop.” 

As I turned my Jiorse to put this design into execution, the 
fountain came under my eyes. Its water reminded me that I 
was thirsty, for it was a July day, and a hot one. A gourd cup 
lay on the edge of the tank. Without dismounting, I was able 
to lay hold of the vessel, and filling it with the cool sparkling 
liquid, I drained it off. It was very good water, but not Canario 
or Xeres. 

Sweeping the curtain once more, I turned with a disappointed 
glance, and jagging my horse, rode doggedly out through the 
back gateway. Once in the rear of the buildings, I had a full 
view of the great meadow already-known to me ; and pulling up, 
I sat in the saddle, and watched the animated scene that was 
there being enacted. Bulls, half wild, rushing to and fro in mad 
fury ; vaqueros mounted on their light mustangs, with streaming 
sash and winding lazo ; rangers upon their heavier steeds, offer- 
ing but a clumsy aid to the more adroit and practised herdsmen ; 
others driving off large groups that had been already collected 
and brought into subjection : and all this amidst the fierce bel- 
Ipwings of the bulls, the shouts and laughter of the delighted 
troopers, the shriller cries of the vaqueros and peons. The 
whole formed a picture that, 'Under other circumstances, I should 
iiave.contemplated with interest. Just then, my spirits were not 
attuned to its enjoyment, and although I remained for some 
minutes with my eyes fixed upon it, my thoughts wandered -else- 
where. 

Reonfess to a strongs faith in woman's jcuriosity. That such a 
scene could by passing under the windows of the most aristocratic 
mansion, without its most aristocratic inmate deigning to take -a 
peep at it, I could not believe. Besides, Isolina was the very 


UN PAPELCITO. 


55 


reverse. “ Ha ! Despite that jealous, curtain, those beautiful 
eyes are -glancing through some aperture — window or loophole, 
I doubt not and with this reflection, I once more turned my 
face to the buildings. 

J ust then, it occurred to me that I had not sufficiently recon- 
noitred the front of the dwelling. As we approached it, we had 
observed that the shutters of the windows were closed ; but 
these opened inward, and since that time one or other of them 
might have been set a little ajar, from my knowledge of Mexi- 
can interiors, I knew that these front windows were those of the 
principal apartments — of the sala and grand cuarto, or draw- 
ing-room — precisely those where the- inmates at that hour should 
be found. 

“Fool F’ thought I, “to have remained so long in the patio. 

Had I gone round to the front windows I might have ’Tis 

not too late — there’s a- chance yet.” 

Under the impulse of this new- hope, I rode back through the 
corral, and re-entered the patio. The brown-skinned mestizas 
were still there, chattering and flurried as ever, and the curtain 
had not been stirred. A glance at it was all I gave ; and with- 
out stopping, I walked my horse across the paved court, and 
entered under the arched saguan. The massive gate stood open, 
as we had left it ; and on looking into the little box of the portero, 
I perceived that it was empty. The man hadrhid himself, in dread 
of a second interview with the Texam lieutenant ! 

Iu another moment, I had emerged from the gateway, and was 
about turning my horse to inspect the windows, when I heard 
the^word “ Capitan,” pronounced in a voice that soundedsoft as 
a silver, bell, and thrilled to my heart like a strain of music. 

I looked towards the windows. It came not thence ; they 

were close shut as ever. Whence Before I had time to 

ask myself the question, the ‘-Capitan” was. repeated in a some- 
what louder key, and I now,, perceived that the voice proceeded 
from above — from the^azotea. 


56 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


I wrenched my horse round, at the same time turning' my eyes 
upward. I could see no one ; but just at that moment an arm, 
thatjuig'ht have been attached to the bust of Yenus, was pro- 
truded through a notch in the parapet. In the small hand, 
wickedly sparkling with.jewels, was something, white, which I 
could not distinguish until I saw it projected on the grass — at 
the same moment that the phrase “ Un papelcito ,> reached my 
ears. 

Without hesitation I dismounted — made myself master of the 
papHcito ; and then leaping once more into the saddle, looked 
upward. I had purposely drawn my horse some distance from 
the walls, so that I might command a better view. I was not 
disappointed-\-Isolina ! The face, that lovely face, was just dis- 
tinguishable through the slender embrasure, the large brown eye3 
gazing upon me with that half-earnest, half-mocking glance I had 
already noticed, and which produced within me both pleasure 
aud pain ! 

I was about to speak to her, when I saw the expression sudden- 
ly change ; a hurried glance was. thrown backwards, as if the 
approach of some one disturbed her ; a finger rested momentarily 
on hen lips, and then her face disappeared behind the screening 
wall of the parapet. I understood the universal sign, and re- 
mained silent. 

For some moments I was undecided whether to go or stay. 

She had evidently withdrawn from the front of the building 

©> 

though she was still upon the azo tea. Some one had joined her ; 
and I could hear.voices in conversation ; her own contrasting with 

the- harsher tones of a man. Perhaps her father — perhaps 

that other vWafe-^-less..agjeeable supposition 1 

I was about to.ride olF, when it occurred to me that I had bet- 
ter firsUmaster the contents of the “ papelcito.” Perhaps it 
might . throw some light on the^ituation, and enable me to adopt 
the more pleasant alternative of remaining a while longer upon 
the premises. I had thrust thc-lillel into the breast of my frock • 


UN PAPELCITO. 


5f 


and now looked around for some place where I might draw it 
forth audcperuse it*. unobserved. The great arched gateway, 
shadowy and tenantlees, offered the desired accommodation ; and 
heading my horse to it, I once more rode inside the saguan. 
Facing around so as to hide my front from the cocineras , I drew 
forth the strip of folded paper, and spread it open before me. 
Though written in pencil, and evidently in a hurried impromptu, I 
had no difficulty in deciphering it. My heart throbbed-exultingly 
as I read : 

“ Capitan ! I know you will pardon our dry hospitality 1 A 
cup of cold w T ater — ha ! ha ! ha ! Remember what I told you 
yesterday : we fear our friends more than our foes, and we have 
a guest in the house my f ather dreads more than yon and your terri- 
ble filibusteros. I am not angry with you for my pet, but you 
have carried off mydazo as well. Ah, capitan ! would you rob 
me of -everything ?-*-Adios ! Isolina.” 

Thrusting the paper back into my bosom, I sat for some time 
pondering upon its contents. Part was clear enough — the re- 
maining part full of* mystery. 

“ W-e fear our- friends more than our foes’ 7 I was behind the 
scenes sufficiently to* comprehend* what was intended by that 
cunningly worded phrase. It simply meant that Don Ramon de 
Vargas was - Ayankieado — in other words, a friend to the Ameri- 
r.amcause, or, as some loud demagogues would have pronounced 
him, a traitor to his* country.” It did not follow, however, 
that he was- any thing of the, kind. He might have wished suc- 
cess to the -American arms, and stilL remained a. true friend fro 
his country -^not one of those blind. bigots whose, standard dis- 
plays the brigan<kmotto, “ Our country right or wrong,” but an 
enlightened-patriot, who desired more to see Mexico enjoy peace 
and happiness unden, foreign domination, than that it should con- 
tinue im. anarchy under the iron, rule o£ native despots. What 
is therein the empty title of independence, without' peace, without 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


58 


liberty ? After all r patriotism in its ordinary sense is but a 
doubtful-virtue — perhaps nearer to a crime ! It will one day 
appear so ; one day in the far future it will be supplanted by a 
virtue of higher order — the- patriotism that kuows no boundaries 
of nations, but whose country is the whole earth. That, however, 
would not be “ patriotism !” 

Was Don Ramon de Vargas a patriot in this sense — a man of 
progress, who cared not that the name of “ Mexico ” should be 
blotted from the map, so long as peace and. prosperity should be 
given to his country under another name ? Was Don Ramon 
one of these? It mighty be. There were many such in Mexico 
at that time, and these principally of the class to which Senor 
de Vargas belonged — th &ricos, or proprietors. It is easy enough 
to explain why the Ayankieactos were of the class ofiricos. 

Perhaps the affection of Don Ramon for the American cause 
had less lofty motives ; perhaps the 5000 beeves may have had 
something to 4° with it ? Whether or no, I could not tell ; nor 
did I stay to. consider. I only reflected upon the matter at 
ail as offering an explanation to the ambiguous phrase now 
twice used by his fair daughter — “We fear out- friends more 
than our foes” On either^supposition, the meaning was .clear. 

What followed was far from equally perspicuous. A-guest in 
the house dreaded by her father l Here was mystery indeed. 
Who could that guest be ? — Who but hurra ! r' - 

But Ijurra was her-cousin — she had said.so. If a- cousin, why 
should he be ..dreaded? Was there still another guest in the 
house? That might be : I had not been inside to see. The 
mansion was large enough to accommodate another-^half a score 
of others. For all that, my thoughts constantly turned upon 
Ijurra, and why I know not ; but I could not resist the belief 
that he was the -person pointed at — the guest that was 
“ dreaded I” 

Thc-behavior which I had -noticed on the day before — the 
first and only time I had ever seen the man — his angry speech 


AN OLD ENMITY. 


59 


ancUlcoks addressed to Isolina — her apparent- fear of him : 
these it was, no doubt, that guided my instincts ; and I at 
length came to the conviction that he was the fiend dreaded by 
I)on Ramon. And she too-feared him ! “ God grant that she 

dc°nqt also 4cm him 1” 

Such was my mentaL ejaculation, as I passed on to consider 
the closing sentences of the hastily written note. In these I 
also encountered -ambiguity of expression ; whether I con- 
strued it aright, time would tell. Perhaps my wish was too 
much parent to my thoughts ; but it was with- exulting heart I 
rod^ out from the gateway. 


CHAPTER X. 

AN OLD ENMITY. 

I RODE slowly, and but a few paces before reining up my horse. 
Although I was under the impression that it would be useless 
remaining, and that aminterview with Isolina was impossible, for 
that day at least, I could not divest myself of the desire to lin- 
ger a little, longer near the spot. Perhaps she might appear 
again upon the ..azotea ; if- but for a moment ; if but to wave her 

hand, and waft me an adieu ; if but 

When a short distance separated me from the walls, I drew 
up, and turning in the saddle, glanced back to the parapet. A 
face- was there, where, hers had, been ; but, oh, the contrast 
between her lovely features and- those that now met my gaze ! 
Hyperion to the. Satyr 1 Not that the -face now before me was 
ugly or- ill-featured. There ar& some, and- women too, who 
would have, termed it .handsome : to my eyes, it was hideous 1 
Let me confess that its .hideousness, or more properly it* cause, 


60 


THE WAE-TRA.1L. 


rested in tlimmoral, rather than the physical expression ; perhaps, 
too, a little of it might have been found in my own heart. Under 
other w circumstances, I might not have, criticised that face so 
harshly. All the world did not think as I about the face of 
Rafael Ijurra— for it was he who was gazing at me over the 
parapet. 

Our-eyes met ; and that first glance stamped the relationship 
between us— ^hostility for life ! Not a word passed, and yet the 
looks of each told the other, in the plainest language, “ I am 
your'foc” Had we sworn it in wild oaths, in all the bitter 
hyperbole of. insult, neither of us would have felt it more pro- 
found or keen. 

I shall not stay to analyze this feeling of sudden and unex- 
pressed hostility, though the-philosophy of it is simple enough. 
You too have,, experienced it— perhaps more than-once in your 
life, without being exactly able to explain it. I arm not in that 
dilemma : I could explain it. easily enough ; but it scarcely 
merits an explanation. Suffice to say, that while gazing upon 
the face of that man, I entertained it in all its strength. 

I have called it am i ^expressed hostility. Therein I have 
spoken without thought ; it was-fully expressed by- both of us, 
though not in words. Words are but- weak symbols of a 
passion, compared with the. passion itself, exhibited in the 
clenched hand, the lip compressed, the flashing eye, the clouded 
cheek, the quick play of the muscles— weak symbols are- words 
compared with signs like these. No words passed between 
Ijurra and myself ; uione were, needed. Each read in the other 
a rival— a rival in love, a competitor for the heart of a lovely 
woman, the loveliest in' Mexico ! It is needless to say that, under 
such an aspect, each hated the other at sight. 

In the face of. Ijurra I read more. I saw before me a man of 
bad -heart and brutal nature. His-large, and, to- speak the 
truth, beautiful eyes, had in them an. animal expression. They 
were not without, intelligence, but so much the worse, for .that 


AN OLD ENMITY. 


61 


intelligence expressed-, ferocity and bad faith. His beauty was 
the beauty of the. jaguar. He had the air of an accomplished 
maivaecustomed to-conquest in the field of love— heartless, reck- 
less, false. O mystery of our nature, there are those who 
love such men ! 

In Ijurra’s face I read more :~he knew my secret J- The signifi- 
Can t„glance of his eye told me so. He knew. why I was lingering 
there. The, satiric smile upon his lip attested it. He saw 
my efforts to obtain an interview, and, confident *iu his own 
position, held my failure but lightly — a something only to amuse 
him. I could tell all this by the sardonic sneer that sat upon 
his features. 

As we continued to^ gaze, neither. moving his eyes from the 
other, this -sneer became too oppressive to be silently borne. 
I could no longer stand such a satirical reading of my thoughts. 
The insult was as marked as words could have made it ; and I 
was about to have recourse to words to reply, when the clatter 
of a horse’s hoofs caused me to turn my eyes in an opposite 
direction. A. horseman was coming up the hill, in a direct line 
from the pastures. I saw it, was one of the -lieutenants — 
Holingsworth. 

A few more stretches of his horse brought the lieutenant upon 
the ground, where he pulled up directly in front of me. 

“ Captain AVarfield !” said he, speaking in an official tone, 
“ the cattle are collected ; shall we proceed” 

He proceeded no further with that sentence ; his- eye, chance 
directed, was carried up to the azotea, and rested upon the face 
oLIjurra. He- started in his saddle, as if a -serpent had stung 
him ; his hollow eyes shot prominently out, glaring wildly from 
their sockets, while the muscles of his throat and jaws twitched 
in convulsive action ! For a-moment, the. desperate, passion 
seemed to, stifle his breathing, and while .thus. silent the expres- 
sion of his .eyes puzzled me. It was of frantic joy, and ill 
became-that face where I had never. observed a smile. But-^he 


62 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


strange, look was soon .explained — it was- not friendship, bnt fch<i 
joy of anticipated 'Vengeance !<"• Breaking into a wild laugh, he 
shrieked out, “ Rafael-Ijurra, by the eternal God !” 

This -awful and emphatic- recognition produced itsveffect. I 
saw that Jjurra-knew the .man who addressed him. His dark 
countenance turned suddenly, pale, and then became mottled with 
livid .spots, while his -eyes, scintillated and rolled about in the 
unsteady, glances of terror. He made no reply beyond the 
ejaculation “ Demonio !” which seemed involuntarily toescape 
him. He appeared -unable to reply ; surprise and -fright held 
him spell-bound and- speechless 1 

“ Traitor ! villain I - murderer !” shrieked Holingsworth, 
“ we’ve met at last ; now for a squaring of our accounts 1” and 
in the next instant the muzzle of his rifle was pointing to the 
notch in the parapet^-pointing to the face of Ijurra ! 

“ Hold ! Holingsworth l^liold 1” cried I, pressing my heel 
deeply iuto my horse’s flanks, and dashing forward. 

Though my. steed sprang Jnstantly to the .spur, and as quickly 
I caught the lieutenant’s arm, I was too late to arrest the shot. 
I spoiled his --aim, however ; and the bullet, instead of passing 
through the brain of Rafael Ijurra, as it would certainly have 
done r glanced upon the mortar of the parapet, sending a cloud 
of lime-dust into his face. 

Up to that moment the Mexican had made no attempt to 
escape beyond the aim of his antagonist. Terror must have 
glued him to the spot. It was. only when tbe-report of the 
rifle, and the blinding mortar broke the spell, that he was able to 
turn and fly. When the dust cleared away, his head was no 
longer above the wall. 

I turned to my companion, and addressed him in some 
warmth. 

“ Lieutenant Holingsworth 1 I -command”- 2 — - 

“ Captain Warfield,” interrupted he, in a tone of cold deter 
mination, “ you may. command me in all matters of. duty, and 1 


AN OLD ENMITY. 


63 


shall, obey you. This is a-private affair ; and, by the Eternal, 

the- general- himself Bah! I lose, time ; the .villain will 

escape 1” and before I could, seize either himself or his bridle- 
rein, he shot his horse past me and entered the gateway ai 
ft gallop. 

I , followed as. quickly as I could, and reached the patio 
almost as, soon as he; but too. late to hinder him from his 
purpose. I grasped - him by the arm, but with determined 
strength he- wrenched himself free — at the same instant gliding 
out of his saddle. Pistol in hand, he rushed up the escalera , his 
trailing jscabbard clanking upon the stone steps as he went. He 
was sooiuout of my ..sight, behind the parapet of the azotca. 

Flinging, myself from the saddle, I followed as fast as my legs 
would, carry me. While on the. stairway, I heard loud words 
and oaths above, the crash of falling objects, and then two shots 
following quick and fast upon each other. I heard screaming in 
a •woman’s voice, and a.groan — the last uttered by a man. One 
of them is xlead or dying, thought I. 

On reaching the azotea — which I did in a few seconds of time 
. — I found perfect., silence there. I saw no one, male or female, 
living or dead ! True, the place was like a garden, with plants, 
shrubs, and even trees, growing in gigantic pots. I could not 
view it all at once. They might still be there behind the screen 
of leaves ? 

I-ran to and fro over the whole roof; I saw flower-pots 
freshly broken. It was the crash of them I had heard coming up. 
I saw no .men, neither Holingsworth nor Ijurra, ! They could 
not be standing up, or I should have seen -them. “ Perhaps 
they are down among the pots — both. There were two shots. 
Perhaps both are down — dead !” 

But where was-she whQ screamed ? Was it-Isolina ? 

Hall' distracted, L rushed to another part of the roof. I saw 
a small escalera— a- private stair— that-led into the interior of 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


64 

the house. Ha! they must have gone, down by it? she whcf 
screamed must have. gone that way? 

For a moment, I hesitated to follow ; but it was no time to 
stand upon etiquette, and I was. preparing to plunge down the 
stairway, when I heard shouting outside the walls, and then 
anothershot from a pistol. 

I -turned, and. stepped hastily across the azotea in the direction 
of the sounds. I .looked over the parapet. Down the slope of 
the hill- two men were runningrat the top of their speed, one-after 
the other. The hindmost held in his hand a drawn sabre. It 
was Holingsworth still in pursuit of Ijurra ! 

The latter appeared to be gaining upon his vengeful pursuer, 
who,, burdened with his accoutrements, ran- heavily. The Mexi- 
can was evidently making for the woods that began at the 
bottom of the hill ; and in a few seconds more he had entered 
the timber, and passed out of sight. Like a hound upon the 
trail, Holingsworth followed, and disappeared from my view at 
the same spot. 

Hoping I- might still be able to prevent the shedding of 
blood, I descended hastily from the azotea, mounted my horse, 
and galloped down the hill. I reached the edge of the woods 
where they had gone in, and followed some distance upon their 
trail ; but I lost it at length, and came to a halt. I remained 
for some minutes listening for voices, or, what I more expected 
to hear, the report of a pistol. Neither sound reached me. I 
heard only the shouts of the vaqueros on the other side of the 
hill ; and this reminding me of my duty, I turned my horse, and 
rode back to the hacienda. 

There, everything was,-silent : not a face was to be seen. The 
inmates of the-house had-hidden themselves in rooms, barred up 
and dark ; even the- damsels of the kitchen had disappeared, 
thinking, na doubt, that an attack would be made upon the pre- 
mises, and that .spoliation and plunder were intended 
I was puzzled howto act. Holings worth’s strange -conduct 


RAFAEL IJURRA. 


65 


had disarranged my ideas. I should have demanded admission, 
<5und explained the -occurrence to Don Ramon ; but I had nc 
£;Xt>hination to give ; I rather needed one for myself ; and 
wtidfrr a painful feeling of suspense as’ to the result, I rode off 
m the place. 

# Half-a-dozen rangers were left upon the ground, with orders 
*po await the return of, Holingsworth, and then gallop after us ; 
while tlm remainder of the troop, with, Wheatley and myself in 
advance of the vast drove, took the route for the American 
e&MjP 


CHAPTER XI. 

RAFAEL IJURRA. 

Ik ill-humor I journeyed along. The hot sun and the dusty 
road did not. improve my temper* ruffled as it was by the. unplea- 
sant-incident. I was far from satisfied with my first-lieutenant, 
whoso conduct was still a mystery. Wheatley could- not explain 
it. Some old. enmity, no. doubt* both of us, believed —some.story 
of wrong and revenge. 

Nov everyday man was Holingsworth, but one altogether of 
peculiar, character and. temperament — as>unlike him wba rode by 
my side as acid to alkali. The* latter was a dashing, cheerful 
fellow, dressed in half-Mexican costume, who could ride a wild 
horse and -throw the lazo with any vaquero in the crowd. He 
was a true -Texan, almost by .birth ; ha^sjiartd the fortunes of 
the young-republic since the days of Austin ; a^d was never 
more- happy than while, engaged in the border warfare, tba^with 
slight intervals, had been- carried on. against either -Mexican 
or Indian foeman, ever since the lone-star had~sprend its bain ei 


6G 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


to the breeze. No raw.recruit was ..Wheatley ; though young, 
he was what ^Texans term an ‘-old Indian fighter”— a rea* 
“ Texas ranger.’’ 

Holingsworth was . not a Texan, but a- Tennessean, though 
Texas had been for some years his adopted home. It was net 
thejirst time he had crossed the Rio Grande. He had been one 
of thejinfortunate Mier expedition — a survivor of that - decimated 
band— afterwards carried in chains to Mexico, and there com- 
pelled to work -breast-deep in the mud of the great zancas that 
traverse the streets. Such experience might account for the 
serious, somewhat stern expression that habitually rested upon 
his countenance, and gave him the character of a “ dark, satur- 
nine man.” I have said incidentally that I never saw him smile 
— never. He spoke- seldom, and, as a general thing, only upon 
matters of duty ; but at times, when he fancied himself alone, I 
have heard him. mutter threats, while a convulsive twitching of- 
the . muscles, and a mechanical clenching of the fingers accom- 
panied his .words, as. though he- stood *in the presence of some 
deadly, foe ! I had more than once observed these frenzied out- 
bursts, without -knowing > aught of their cause. Harding Ho- 
lingsworth — such was his full name — was a man with whom no 
one would haveMesired to take the liberty of asking an explana- 
tion of his conduct. His courage and war-prowess were -well 
known among the Texans ; but it is idle to add this, since other- 
wise he could not have stood among them in the capacity of a 
leader. Men like them, who have the election of their own offi- 
cers, do not trust their lives to the. guidance of either stripling or 
coward. 

Wheatley and I were talking the matter over as we rode 
along, and endeavoring to account for the strange -behavior of 
Holingsworth.^ We had both, concluded that the- ■ affair had 
arisen from some old-enmity — perhaps connected with the- Miei 
expedition — when. accidentally I mentioned the Mexican’s name. 
Up to this moment the Texan lieutenant f*ad not seen- liurra— 


RAFAEL UTJRRA. 


/-> "7 

VI 


I 

fe.aTir.g been busy with the- cattle upon the other side of the 
nill — nor bad the name been, pronounced in his hearing. 

“ Ijurra VI he exclaimed, with a-start, reining up and turning 
to me with an inquiring look. 

“ Ijurra.” 

“ j Rafael Ijurra, do you think ?” 

“ Yes,- Rafael— that is the name.” 

“ A tall, dark fellow, moustached and whiskered ? — not ill- 
looking ?” 


“ Yes ; he might answer that description,” I replied. 

“If it -be the same Rafael Ijurra that used to live at San 
Antonio, there’s more than one Texan would like to raise his 
hair. _ The. same — it must-be — there’s no, two of the name j 
’taint likelyr^-no.” 

“ What do you* know of him ?” 

“ Know ? — that heVabout the most precious scoundrel in all 
■pexas or -Mexico either, and that’s, saying a good deal. Rafael 
Ijurra ? ’Tis -he, by thunder ! Ik can be- nobody else ; and 
Hoiingsworth--- — Ha ! now I think of it, it’s just the man ; 
and Harding Holingsworth, of all men living, has good reasons 
to remember him. 1 ’ 

“ How ? Explain !” 

The Texan paused for a moment, as if to collect his scattered 
memories, and then -proceeded to detail what he-knew of. Rafael 
Ijurra. His. account, without the .expletives and. emphatic 
ejaculations which adorned it, was substantially as follows : 

RafaeJ Ijurrajsvas by birth a Yexan of Mexican race. He had 
formerly. possessed a,.hacienda near San Antonio de Bexar, with 
other- considerable property,,, all of which he had spent at.play 
or otherwise .dissipated, so that he had-sunk to the status of a 
professional _.gambler. TJp to the date of the Mier expedition 
he had passed off as a-citizen of -Texas, under the new regime, 
and-preteuded much patriotic attachment to the-young republic. 


63 


THE W A E-TRAIL. 


When the-Mier adventure was about being organized, Ijura had 
influence. enough to have himself, elected one of its officers. No 
one suspected his .fidelity, to the cause. He was one of those who 
at the-halt by Laredo, urged the impudent advance upon-Mier ; 
and his presumed -knowledge of the country— of which he was a 
native— gave weight to his counsel. It afterwards proved that 
hisiree advice was intended foi**the benefit of the-enemy, with 
whom he was in secret 'correspondence. 

On the. night before t^e battle r Ijurra was^missing. Tho-Texan 
army was captured after a brave -defence, in which they slew 
more than their own number of the enemy, and, under guard, 
the remnant was marched off for the capital of Mexico. On the 
second or third day of their march, what was the astonishment 
of the Texan prisoners to sea.Rafael Ijurra in the uniform of a 
Mexican officer , and forming fart of their escort ! But- that their 
hands were, bound, they would have torn him to pieces, so 
euraged were they at this piece of black treason. 

“I was not in that ugly scrape,” continued the lieutenant. 
“As -luck would have it, I washdown with a. fever in Brazos 
bottom, or L guess I should have had to draw my bean with the 
rest of ’em,, poor fellows !” 

Wheatley’s allusion to “ drawing his bean” I understood well 
enough. All whojiave ever read the account of this ill-starred 
adventure will remember, that the Texans, goaded by ill treat- 
men t^rose upon their, guard,, disarmed, and conquered them! 
but in their subsequent attempt to escape, ill managed and ill 
guided^ nearly all of them were recaptured, and decimated — each 
tenth, man having been shot like a dog ! The mode of choosing 
the victims was by lot, and the black and white beans of Mexico 
( frijoles ) were made use of as the expositors of the fatal decrees 
of destiny. A number of the beans, corresponding to the number 
of the captives, was placed within an earthern olla — there being 
a black bean for every nine white ones. He who drew the 


kafap:l ijukka. 


69 


black bean must die 1 During the drawing of this fearful lottery, 
thero_ occurred incidents exhibiting -character as heroic as has 
ever been ..recorded in story. 

Read from an eye-witne'ss : 

“ They all-drew their .beans with manly dignity and- firmness. 
Some of-lighter temper jested over the bloody tragedy. One 
would say : 1 Boys ! this beats raffling all to pieces /’: Another : 
1 W dl, this is the , tallest gambling-scrape I ever was in .’ Robert 
Beard, who lay upon the ground exceedingly ill, called his bro- 
ther William, aud said : ‘Brother, if you. draw a black bean, 
I’lLtake your place — I. want to die F .The brother, with over- 
whelming anguish, -Teplied : ‘No, I will-keep my own place ; 1 
am stronger , and better able to die than you .’ Major Cocke, when 
he drew the fatal bean, held it up between hjs finger and thumb, 
aud, with a smile of contempt, said : ‘ Boys ! I told you so : I 
never failed in my life to draw a prize F He then coolly added : 
‘They only.,rob me of- forty years.’ Henry, Whaling, one of 
Cameron’sJ)est fighters, as he drew his black bean, said, in a 
joyous tone : ‘ Well, they don’t make much out of me anyhow ; 
I know J’ve killed~twenty-five of them.’ Then,. demanding his 
dinner in a firm voice, he added : ‘They shall not-cheat me out 
of it.’ Saying this* he ate„heartily, smoked a cigar, and in 
twenty minutes afteivhe had ceased to live ! The Mexicans fired 
fifteen shots at Whaling before he -expired 1 Young. Torrey, 
quite a-youth, but in spirit a giant, said that he ‘ was^perfectly 
willing to meet his fate— for the. glory' of his country he had 
fought, and ferr her~glory he was willing to die.’ Edward Este 
spoke of hia -death with the coolest indifference. Cash said: 
* Well, they murdered my brother with Colonel Tannin, and 
Jbhey are about to. murder me.’ J. L. Jones said to the. inter 
preter : i-Tell the. officer todook upon. men who are not afraid 
t a die for their country.’ Captain. Eastland, behaved with the 
most -patriotic dignity ; he desired that his country should not 
particularly avenge his-death. Major Dunham said he was pro 


70 


THE WAR-TEATL. 


pared to die for his country. James Ogden, -with his usual 
equanimity of temper, smiled at his. fate and said : ‘I am pre- 
pared to meet it.’ Young .Robert W. Harris behaved in the 
most unflinching manner, and_ called upon his companions to 
avenge theirjmurder. * * * * 

“ They were bound together — their eyes being bandaged — and 
set npon a log near the wall, with their , backs towards their 
executioners. They all begged the officer to shoot them in. front, 
and at a short distance, saying, they ‘ were not afraid to lacf. 
death in the face. } This, request the Mexican, refused ; and to 
make his cruelty as .refined as. possible, caused the fire to be 
delivered from a,. distance, and to be continued for ten or twdve 
minutes^ lacerating and mangling those heroes in a manner tco 
horrible for-description.” 

When you. talk of, Thermopylae, think also of-Texas I 

“ But what of.Holingsworth ?” I asked. 

“ Ah f Holingsworth !” replied the lieutenant ; “ he has good 
cause to^remember Ijurra,. now I think of it. I shall, give the 
story to,.you as I heard it and my companion .proceeded with 
&~relation, which caused the. blood to curdle in my veins, as I 
listened. It fully explained, if it did not palliate, the fierce 
hatred of the Tennessean towards Rafael Ijurra. 

In the ,Mier expedition, .Holingsworth had a. brother, who, 
like himself, was made prisoner. He was a delicate youth, and 
could ilLendure the hardships, much less the barbarous treat- 
ment to which the prisoners were exposed during that memor- 
able march. He became^reduced to a skeleton, and worse than 
thaVfootsore, so that he could no longer endure the pain of his 
feet and .ankles, worn skinless, and charged with the. spines of 
acacias, .cactus, and the numerous thorny plants in which the 
dry soil of Mexico is so prolific. In agony, he fell down upon 
the road. 

Ijurra .was in commaud of the guard ; from him- Hdlings- 
worth’s brother begged to be allowed the .use of a mule The 


RAFAEL IJURRA. 


71 


youth had known Ijurra at San Antonio, and. had even lent him 
money, which was never returned. 

“ To your feet, and forward !” was Ijurra’s answer. 

“ I cannot move a step,” said the youth, despairingly. 

“ Cannot !- Carrai ! we shall see whether you can. Here, 
Pablo,”- continued he, addressing, himself to one of the soldiers 
U>f the guard ; “ give this fellow the spur ; he is restive !” 

The ruffian .soldier approached w r ith fixed bayonet, seriously 
intending to. use its point on the poor w T ay-worn invalid 1 The 
latter -rose with an effort, and made a desperate attempt to keep 
on ; but his. resolution again failed him. He could not endure 
the agonizing pain, and after staggering a pace or two, he fell up 
against a rock. 

“ I .cannot !” he again cried — “ I cannot march further : let 
me -die here.” 

“Forward Lor you shall,A\e here,” shouted Jjurra, drawing n, 
pistol from hi3 belt, and cocking it, evidently with the determi 
nation to carry out his threat. “ Forward I” 

“ L-cannot,” faintly replied the youth. 

“ Forward, or I fire !” 

“.Fire I” cried the young man, throwing open the flaps of his 
hunting-shirt, and making one last effort to stand erect. 

“You are* scarce worth a bullet,” said the. monster, with a 
sneer ; at the.same instant hg.levelled his. pistol at the breast of 
his victim, and fired ! When the smoke was blown aside, the 
body of young Holingsworth was seen lying at the. base of the 
rock,, doubled up, -dead 1 A thrill of .horror ran through the 
line oL captives. Even their habitually- brutal guards were 
touched by . Auch wanton -barbarity. The brother of the youth 
was not six yards from the spot, tightly bound, and witness of 
the whole scene ! Fancy his feelings at that moment ! 

“ No wonder,” continued the Texan — “ no wonder that Har- 
ding HolingswortLdon’t stand upon ceremony as to where and 
when he may attack Rafael Ijurra. I verily believe that the-pre- 


12 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


jence of fhe,. commander-in-chief wouldn’t restrain him from taking 
vengeance. It ain’t to be wondered at !” 

In hopes that my companion might help me to come to some 
knowledge of the, family at the hacienda, I guided the conversa 
tion in that direction. 

“ And Don Ramon de Yargas is Ijurra’s uncle ?” 

“ Sure enough, he must be. Ha ! I did not think of that 
Don Ramon is the uncle. I ought to have known him this 
morning — that- confounded -mezcal I drank knocked him out of 
my mind altogether. I have, seen the old fellow several times. 
He used to come to San Antonio once a year, on business with 
the merchants there. I remember, too, he onco brought a 
daughter with him-Vsplendid girl that, and no mistake 1 Faith, 
she crazed half the young fellows in San Antonio, and there 
were no ends of duels about her. She used to ride wild horses, 
and fling the lazo like a Comanche. But what am I talking 
about ? That mezcal has got into my brains, sure enough. It 
must have beenAer you. chased ? Sure as ^hootin’, it was? 1 ’ 

“ Probably enough/’ I replied, in a. careless way. My com- 
panion little. knew the deep, feverish, interest his, remarks were 
exciting, or the struggle it was costing me to conceal my emo- 
tions. One thing I longed tojearn from *him-rr-whether any ol 
these amorous duellists had been favoured with the approbation, 
of the lady. 1 longed to put this question, and yet tlie.absolute 
dread of the answer restrained my tongue 1 I remained silent, 
till the opportunity had passed. The hoof-strokes of half-a-dozen 
horses coming rapidly from the rear, interrupted the conversa- 
tion. Without surprise, I saw that it was -Holings worth and-£he 
rangers who had been left at the hacienda. 

“ Captain Warfield 1” said the Tennessean as he spurred along- 
side, “ my^conduct no doubt surprises you. I shall be-able to 
explain it to your satisfaction when time permits. It’s ar long 
story — a -painful one to me : you will nobrequire it from me now. 
This -much let me say— for good reason, I hold Rafael Ijurra 


THE YELLOW DOMINO. 


73 


oJ> 

a: ray mosLdeadly foe. I. came to Mexico to killthatman ; and 
by the Eternal ! if J don’t succeed, I care not who kills me! n 

“ You-ha ve-not then ” 

. With a feeling of relief, I put the question, for I read the 
answer in the look of disappointed vengeance that gleamed in the 
eyes of the Tennessean. I was not* permitted to finish the in- 
terrogatory ; he. knew what I- was going to ask, and interrupted 
me with the reply : 

“ No, no ; the villain has escaped ; but-bv ”■ 

The rest of the emphatic vow was inaudible ; but the - wild 
glance that „ flashed from the speaker’s eye expressed his deep 
purpose more .plainly than words. The next moment he fell back 
to his_place in the troop, and with his head slightly bent forward, 
rode on in silence. His dark taciturn features were lit up at in- 
tervals by an ominous gleam, showing that he still brooded over 
his unavenged wrong. 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE YELLOW DOMINO. 

The next two days I passed in feverish* restlessness. Holings- 
worth’s conduct had quite ..disconcerted my plans. From the 
concluding sentences of Isolina’s note, I had construed an invita- 
tion to revisit the hacienda in some more quiet guise than that of 
a filibustero; but after what had transpired, I could not muster 
courage to present myself under any pretence. It was not likely 
I should be welcome^I, the associate — nay, the commander — 
of the man who had attempted to take the life of a nephew, a 
cousin ! Don Ramon had stipulated for a i‘ little rudeness;” he 
had had the full measure of his bargain, and a good deal more. 

4 


n 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


He could not otherwise than think so. Where I to present my* 
self at the hacienda, I could not be else than coldly received — 
in short, .unwelcome. 

I thought of apologies and pretexts, but to na purpose. For 
two days I remained in vacillating indecision; I neither saw ncr 
heard ofdier who engrossed my thoughts. 

* * * * * * * 

News from, head-quarters ! A “ grand ball ” to be given in 
the city 1 

This bit of gossip fell upon my ear without, producing the 
slightest. impression, for I cared little for dancing, and less for 
grand balls : in earlier youth I had liked both; but not then. 

The thing would at once have passed from my thoughts, had 
it not been for some additional information imparted at the same 
time, which to me at once, rendered the balL attractive. 

The information I allude to was, that the- ball was got up “ by 
authority,” and would be upon a grand scale. Its -object was 
political; in. other words, it was to be the means of cultivating a 
friendly intercourse between the conquerors and the conquered — 
a -desirable end. Every effort would be made to bring out the 
‘‘native society,” and let it see that we Yankee officers were not 
such ‘‘barbarians” as they, affected to deem, and in reality 
pronounced us. It was known — so stated my informant- -that 
many families of the Ayankieados would be present; and in order 
to make it pleasanter for those who feared- proscription, the ball 
was to be a masked one — un baile de mascara. 

“ The Ayankieados are to be there 1 and she ” 

My heart- bounded with new hope; and I resolved tamake one 
of the- maskers^-not that I intended to- go in- costume,. In my 
slender wardrobe was a civilian dress of proper cut, and-tolera 
bly well preserved: that would answer my -purpose. The ball 
was to come off on the night following that on which I had word 
of it My suspense would be short. 


THE YELLOW DOMINO. 


75 


The time appeared long enough, but at length the hour arrived, 
md mounting my good steed, I started off for the city. A brisk 
ride of'two hours -brought me on the ground, and I found that I 
was. hi te enough to be fashionable. 

As I entered the ball-room, I saw that most of the company 
Lad. arrived, and tW floor was grouped with dancers. It was 
evident the affair was a success.’’ There were four or five 
hundred persons present, nearly half of them ladies. Many were 
tu character costumes, as Tyrolese peasants, Andalusian maias , 
Bavarian broom-girls, Wallachian boyards, Turkish sultanas, 
and bead bedecked Indian belles. A- greater number were dis- 
guised in the ungraceful- domino, while not a few appeared in 
regular evening-dress. Most of the ladies wore masks; some 
simply hid their faces behind the coquettish reboso tapado , while 
others^permitted their charms to be-gazed upon. As the night 
wore on, and an occasional copita de vino strengthened the nerves 
of the company, the uncovered faces became more numerous, and 
masks got lost or.put away. 

As for the -gentlemen, a number of them also wore-raasks — 
some were tn costume, but uniforms predominated, stamping the 
ball with amilitary character. It was not a littlewsingular to see 
a number of Mexican officers ^mingling in the throng ! These 
were of course-prisoners on-parole ; and their mor^brilliant uni- 
forms, of, French patterns,, contrasted oddly with the plain blue 
dresses of their conquerors. The presence of these prisoners, in 
the full glitter of their -.gold-lace, was not exactly in. good taste; 
but a moment’s, reflection convinced one it was not a matter of 
choice with them. Poor fellows ! had they abided by the laws 
l>f .etiquette, they could not have been there; and no doubt they 
were as* desirous of shaking their legs in the dance as the gayest 
of their captors. Indeed, in this species of rivalry, they far out- 
stripped 4he*-latter. 

. J spent but little time in observing these peculiarities; but one 
hTea engrossed ray mind, and that was to find-Tsolina de V argas 


7G 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


— no.easy task amyd such a multitude of maskers. Among the 
uncovered faces-she was not. I soon-scanned them ail, or rather 
glanced at them. It needed no-scanning to recognise hers. If 
there, she was one of the mascaritas, and 1 addressed myself to a 
close observation of the dames en costume, and the dominoes 
Hopeless enough appeared the prospect of recognising her, but a 
little hope sustained me in the reflection, that, being, myself un 
covered, she might-recognize. me. 

When a full half hour had passed away, and mv lynx-like, 
surveillance was still unrewarded, this hope died within me; and 
what may appear strange, I began to wash, she was not .there 
“ Ifipresent,” thought I, “ she must have. seen me ere this, anr\ 
to have taken no notice” A little pang of. chagiin accom- 

panied this reflection. 

I flung myself upon a seat, and endeavored to assume an air 
of indifference, though I was far from feeling- indifferent, and my 
eyes as before kept eagerly scanning the fair, maskers. Now and 
then, the* tournure of amankle — I had seen- Isolina’s — or the 
elliptical sweep of a fine figure, inspired me with fresh -hope; 
but as the mascaritas who ow^d them were near enough to- have 
seen, and yet took no- notice of me, I- conjectured — in fact, hoped 
— that-none of them was she. Indeed, a well-turned ankle is nc 
distinctive mark among the fair doncellas of Mexico. 

At length, a pair of unusually-neat ones, supporting a- figure 
of such -superb outlines, that even the ungraceful domino could 
noPconceal them, came under my eyes, and riveted my attention. 
My- heart beat wildly as I gazed. I could not help the belief 
that thedady in the yellow domino was Isolina de Yargas. She 
was waltzing with a young dragoon officer; and as they- passed 
me, Prose from my seat, and approached the-orbit of the* dance, 
in order to keep them under my eyes. As they passed me a 
second time, Pfaneied the lady regarded me through her mask : 
I fancied I saw her_start. I was almost snre it was-Isolina ! 

My feeling was now that cf jealousy. The young officer was 


THE YELLOW DOMINO. 


77 


one of tha. elegant gentlemen of the service — a professed lady- 
killer — a fellow, who,, notwithstanding his well-knowmdeficiency 
of4)rains, was ever welcome among women. She seemed to press 
closely to Jiim as they whirled around, while her head rested 
languishingly upon his shoulder. She appeared to be contented 
with her partner. I could scarcely endure the' agony of my 
fancies. 

It was a relief to me when the music- ceased, and the waltz 
ended. The circle broke up, and the waltzers scattered in dif- 
ferent directions, but my. eyes followed only the dragoon officer 
and his. partner. He conducted her to a seat, and then placing 
himself by her side, the two appeared to engage in an earnest 
and interesting conversation. 

With me, politeness was now out of the question. I had 
grown as. jealous as a tiger ; and I drew near enough to become 
a jistener. The lowness of the tone in which they conversed 
precluded the possibility of hearing much of what was said, but 
I could make out that the-spark was “ coaxing” his partner to 
remove her mask. The-voice that replied was surely Isolina’s I 
I could jnyself have torn the silkeu.screen from her face, through 
very ..vexation ; but I was. saved that, indiscretion, for the re- 
quest of her. cavalier, seemed to. prevail, and the next instant the 
mask was removed by the lady’s own hand. Shade of Erebus 1 
what did I. see? She was, black — a , negress ! Not black as 
ebony, but nearly so ; with thick lips, high cheek-bones, and a 
row of short “ kinky” curls dangling over the arch of her glist 
ening forehead ! 

My. astonishment, though perhaps of a. more agreeable kind, 
was not .greater than that of the dragoon lieutenant, who, by 
the way, wms also a full-blooded “ Southerner.” At sight of his 
partner’s- face he.started, as if a six-pound shot had winded him; 
and after a.few half-muttered excuses, he rose with an air of ex- 
treme gau r Jierie t and. hurrying off, hid himself behind the crowd ! 

The “colored lady,” mortified — as I presumed she mast be— 


78 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


hastily readjusted her mask, and rising from her seat, glided 
away from the scene of her^humiliation. I gazed after her with 
a mingled feeling of . curiosity and pity ; I saw her pass out of 
the door alone, evidently with the intention of leaving the-^all 
I fancied she had departed, as her« domino,- conspicuous its 
bright yellow color, was no more seen among the maskers. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE BLUE DOMINO. 

Thus disappointed, I gave up all . hope of . meeting her for 
whose sake I had come to the ball. She was either not there, 
or did not. .wish to be. recognized, even by me. The latter suppo- 
sition was the more bitter of the two ; and. goaded by it and 
one or two other .uncongenial thoughts, I paid frequent visits to 
the “ refreshment room/’ where wine flowed freely. A cup or 
two drove the owe idea out of my mind ; and after a while, I 
grew more companionable, and. determined to enjoy myself like 
others around me. I had not danced as yet, but the wine soon 
got to myAoes as .well as into my„head ; and I resolved to put 
myself in -motion with the first partner that offered. 

I soon found onev— a blue domino — that came right in my way, 
as if thaiates had determined we should dance together. The 
lady was “ not engaged for the next;” she would be. “most 
happy.” 

This, by the way, was said in French, which would have taken 
me by surprise, had I not known that there were many- French 

people living in C , as in all the large cities of Mexico. They 

are usually jewellers, dentists, milliners, or other artizans of that 
class, who drive a lucrative trade among the luxury-loving Mexi* 
tanas. To know there were French neople in the place, was tc 


THE BLUE DOMINO. 


79 


i-e certain you would find them at the ball ; and there were they, 
numbers of them,.. pirouetting about, and comporting themselves 
with the gay. insouciance -characteristic of their nation. I was 
not surprised, then, when my blue domino addressed me in 
French. 

“ A French -modiste!” conjectured I, as soon as she spoke. 

MillineiLor no, it mattered not to me ; I wanted a dancing 
partner ; and after another phrase or two in the same sweet 
tongue, away jwent she and I in the curving whirl of a waltz. 

After, sailing once round the room, I had. two quite .new and 
distinct-impressions upon % my mind : the first, that I had a part- 
ner who could waltz, a. thing not to.be met with every day. My 
blue xlomino seemed to have no feet under her, but floated around 
me as if borne upon the air ! For the moment, I fancied myself 
in Ranelagh or Mabille I My other .impression was, that my 
arm encircled as pretty a waist as ever was clasped by a lover. 
There was a pleasing rotundity about it, combiued with a gene- 
ral symmetry of form and serpentine yieldine^s of movement, 
that rendered dancing with such a partner both easy and delight- 
ful. My observation at the moment was, that if the face of the 
modiste bore auy sort of proportion to her figure, she needed not 
have come so far from France to push her fortune. 

With, such a partner I could not otherwise than waltz well ; 
and never better than upon that occasion. We were soon under 
the observation of the company, and became the cynosure of a 
circle. This I, did not relish, and drawing my blue domino to 
one side, we waltzed towards a seat, into which I handed her 
with the usual polite expression of thanks. 

This seat was in a little recess or blind window, where two 
persons might freely, con verse without fear of an eaves-dropper 
[ had no desire to run away from a partner who danced so well, 
though she were a. modiste. There was room for two upon the 
neneh, and I asked- permission to sit beside her. 
j? “ Oh, certainly,” was the frank reply. 


80 


THE WAR- TRAIL. 


“And will you permit me to remain with you till the muric 

recommences ? ” 

“If you desire it.” 

“ And dance with you again ?” 

“ With pleasure, mousieur, if it suit your convenience. But L? 
there no other who claims you as a partner ? — no- other in this 
assemblage you would prefer ? ” 

“ Not_one, I assure you. You are the only one. present with 
whom I care to dance.” 

As I -said this, I thought I perceived a slight movement, that 
indicated some-emotion. 

“ It was a gallant speech, and the modiste is pleased with the 
compliment,” thought I. 

Her reply : 

“ It -flatters me, sir, that you prefer my company to that of 
the many splendid beauties who are in this saloon; though it 
might gratify me still more if you knew who I amP 

The last clause was uttered with an emphasis, and followed by 
a sigh ! 

“ Poor girl !” thought I, “ she Jancies that I mistake her for 
some grand dame — that if I. knew her. real position, het humble 
avocation, I should no longer care to dance with her. In that 
she is mistakeu. I make no distinction between armilliuer and a 
marchioness, especially in a ball-room. There, grace and beauty 
alone guide to preference.” 

After giving way to some such reflections, I replied : 

“It is my.-Tegretj.mam’selle, not ta have th$. happiness of 
knowing„you, and it is not possible L ever may, unless you will 
have tha.goodness to remove your mask.” 

“ Ah ! monsieur, what you ask is- impossible.” 

“ Impossible ! and^why, may I know ?” 

“ Because,- were you to -see mv face, I should not have you 
for my .partner in the next dance ; and to say the truth, I- should 
regret that, since ycu waltz so admirably.” 


THE BLUE DOMINO. 


31 


“ Ob ! .refusal and flattery in the same breath ! N o, mam’selle, 
I am sure your face will never be the means of your losing a 
partner. Come ! * let me beg oL you to remove that envious 
counterfeit. Let us converse freely face to face. I am not 
masked, as you see.” 

“ In truth, sir, you have no reason to hide your face, which is 
more than. I can say for many other men in this room.” 

“ Quick-witted milliner,” thought I, “ Bravo, Ranelagh 1 
Yive la Mabille 1” 

“ Thanks^ amiable masker !” I replied. “ But you are too 
generous : you flatter me ” 

“ It is worth while,” rejoined she, interrupting me ; “ it im 
proves your-cheek blushes become you, ha, ha, ha 1” 

“ The. deuce ! ” I ejaculated half aloud t “ this dame da Boule- 
vard isdaughing at me 1” 

“ But what are you?” she continued, suddenly changing her 
tone. “You aremot a Mexican ? Are you soldier or civilian ?” 

“ What would you take me for ?” 

“ A poet, from your pale face, but more from the manner in 
which I have heard you sigh.” 

“ I have not sighed since we sat down.” 

“ No — but-before we sat down.” 

“ What ! in the dance ?” 

“ No — before the dance.” 

“ Ha ! then you observed^ me before ?” 

“ O yes ; your, plain dress rendered you conspicuous among sa 
many uniforms ; besides your manner ” 

“What manner?” I asked, with some degree of confusion, 
fearing that in my. search after Isolina I had committed some 
stupid piece of left-handedness. 

Your . abstraction ; and,, by the way, had you not a little 
Enchant for a* yellow domino ?” 

P “ A yellow domino?” repeated I, raising my hand to my 

4 * 


82 


HIE WAR-TRAIL. 


head, as though it» cost me an. effort to rememember it— -‘'a yel- 
low domvj ?” 

“ Ay, 4 ay — a ye-ll-ow dom-in-o,” rejoined my companion witb 
sarxstic- emphasis — “ a yellow domino, who waltzed with a 
y&ang officer — not>-bad-looking r by the way.” 

“ Ah ! I think I tfo-remember ” 

“Well, I think you jught,” rejoined my tormentor, “and weli- 
too : you took sufficient pains to -observe” 

“ Alw-aw— yes,” stammered I. 

“ I thought you were, conning, verses to her, and as- you had 
not the advantage of seeing her face, were making them to her 
feet 1” x 

“ Ha, ha ! — what an idea of yonrs, mad’m’selle !” 

“ In the end, she was not ungenerous — she let you see the 
face ?” 

“ The devil !” exclaimed I starting ; “ you saw the denouement 
then ?” 

“ Ha, ha, ha !” laughed she ; “of course I saw the denoue- 
ment, ha, ha \-^-drole, wasn’t it ?” 

“ Yery,” replied I, not* much relishing the joke, but endeavor- 
ing to join my companion in the laugh. 

“ How silly the^park looked ? ha, ha 1” 

“ Very silly indeed — ha, ha, ha 1” 

“ And how disappointed ” 

“ Eh r 

“ How- disappointed^yow looked, monsieur ” 

“ Oh — ah— I— no — I .assure you — I had no interest in the 
affair. I was not -disappointed — at least not as you imagine.” 

“ Ah 1” 

“ The. feeling uppermost in my mind was. j?%^-pity for the 
poor girl.” 

“ And you reallysd^pity her ?” 

This question was put with an earnestness that sounded some- 
what strange at tha moment. 


THE BLUE DOMINO. 


83 


“I really did. Thecreature seemed so* mortified ” 

** She seemed mortified, did she ?” 
y- “ Of. course. She. left the room immediately after, and has 
not -returned since. No doubt she has gone- home, poor devil !” 

11 Poor devil 1 Is that the extent of your pity ?” 

11 Well,, after all, it must be confessed she was a superb decep- 
tion : a diner dancer I -never saw — I beg pardon, I except my 
present partner — a good foot, an elegant figure, and then to turn 
out ” 

44 What !” 

ll "Una negrilla /” 

“ IJear, monsieur, you Americans are not very gallant towards 
the ladies of -color. It is different here in Mexico, which you 
term -despotic” 

I felt the rebuke. 

“ To change the subject/’ continued she ; “ are you not a 
poet ?” 

“ I. do not deserve the name o£-poet, yet I will not deny that 
I have made verses.” 

“ I thought as ; much. What an instinct I have 1 0 that I 

could prevail upon you to write some verses to me 1” 

“ What I without knowing either your name or having looked 
upon your face. Mam’selle, I must at least see the features I 
am called upon to praise.” 

“ Ah y monsieur, you little know : were I to unmask those fea- 
tures, I should stand but a poor chance of getting the verses. 
My „plain face would counteract all your poetic inspirations.” 

“ Shade of~Lucretia I this is no needlewoman, though dealing 
in weapons quite as sharp. Modiste, indeed ! I have been 
laboring under a mistake. This is some damt spiiituelle, some 
grand- lady.” 

I had now.grown.more than curious to look upon the face of 
my companion. Her conversation had won me : a woman who 
sould talk so, L fancied, could not be ill-looking. Such an eu- 


84 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


chanting spirit could not be hidden behind a plain face ; besides, 
there was the gracefulness of form, the small gloved hand, the 
dainty foot and ankle demonstrated in the dance, a voice that 
rang like music, and the flash of a superb eye, which I could per- 
ceive even through the mask. Beyond a doubt, she wasj 3 eautiful. 

“ Lady 1” I said, speaking with more earnestness than ever, 
“I entreat you to unmask yourself. Were it not in a ball-room, 
I should beg the favor upon my knees.” 

“ And were I to grant it, you could hardly rise soon enough, 
and pronounce your^'lukewarm leave-taking. Ha, monsieur I 
think of the yellow domino 1 ” 

“ Mam’selle, you take pleasure in mortifying me. Bo you 
deem me capable of such fickleness ? Suppose for a moment 
you are not what the world calls beautiful, you could not by re- 
moving your mask, also strip yourself of the attractions of your 
conversation — of that voice that thrihs through myJieart — of 
that grace exhibited in your every mcwement 1 With such en- 
dowments, how could a woman appear ill-looking ? If your face 
was even as- black as hers of the yellow domino, I verily believe 
I could not. perceive its darkness.” 

“ Ha, ha, ha ! take care what you say, monsieur. I presume 
you are not more indulgent than the rest of your sex ; and weit 
kuow I that, with you men, ugliness is the greatest crime of a 
woman.” 

“ I am different, I swear — * — ” 

“ Do not perjure yourself, as you will if I but remove my 
mask. Ltell you, sir, that iij spite of all the fine-qualities you 
imagine me to possess, I am a vision that would horrify you to 
look upon.” 

“ Impossible !— your form, your grace, your voice. Oh, un- 
mask ! I accept every consequence for the favor I ask.” 

“ Then be it as you wish ; but I shall not be the means of 
punishing you. Receive from your own hands the chastisement 
of your curiosity.” 


THE BLUE DOMINO. 


85 


il You- permit- me, then ? Thanks, mam’selle, thanks I It is 
fastened behind : yes, the knot is here — now 1 have it — so — 


With trembling fingers, I undid the string, and pulled off the 
piece of taffety. Shade of Sheba ! what did I see ? ” 

The mask.. fell from my fingers, a& though it had been. iron at 
a cherry .heat. Astonishment caused me to drop it ; rather say 
horror— vhorror at beholding the face underneath — the face of the 
yellow «■ domino ! Yes, there was the same negress with her 
thick lips, high cheek-bones, and the little well-oiled kinks hang- 
ing like corkscrews over her temples ! 

I knew not.either what to say or- do ; my gallantry was clean 
gone ; and although L resumed my seat, I remained perfectly 
dumb. Had I looked in a mirror at that moment, 1 should cer- 
tainly have beheld the- face of a fool. 

My companion, who seemed to have made up her mind to such 
a. result, instead of being mortified, burst into a loud fit of 
laughter, at the same time crying out in a tone of raillery: “ Now, 
Monsieur le Poete, does myjacednspire you ? When may I ex- 
pect the - verses ? To-morrow ? Soon ? Never ? Ah ! mon- 
sieur, I fear you are not more- gallant to us poor “ ladies ob 
color” than your countryman the lieutenant. Ha, ha, ha 1 ” 

I was too much-ashamed of my own conduct, and too deeply 
wounded by her.reproach, to make reply. Fortunately, her con- 
tinued daughter offered me an opportunity to mutter some 
broken phrases, accompanied by very clumsy gestures, and thus 
take myself off. Certainly, in all my life, I never made a more 
awkward-; adieus I walked, or rather stole . , towards the entrance, 
determined to leave the ball-room, and gallop home. On reach- 
ing the door, my curiosity grew stronger than my shame ! and I 
resolved to take a parting-look at this singular Ethiopian. The 
blue-domino f still within the-niche^ caught my- eye at once ; but 
bn looking up to the face— gracious Heaven ! it was Isolina's b* 
I stood as if turned into stone. My gaze was fixed upon her 


56 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


face, and I could not take it off. She was. looking at me ; but, 
oh I th expression with which those eyes regarded me I That 
was a glance to be remembered for life. She no longer laughed, 
but her proud lip seemed to curl with a sarcastic-smile, as of 
scorn 1 

I hesitated whether to return and apologize. But no ; it was 
too late. I could have fallen upon my knees, and begged for- 
giveness. It was too late. I should only subject myself to fur- 
ther ridicule from that capricious spirit. 

Perhaps my look of remorse had more effect than words. I 
thought her expression changed ; her glance became more tender, 
as if inviting me back ! Perhaps 

At this moment, a man, approached, and, without much cere- 
mony, seated himself by her side. His face was towards me — 
I recognized Ijurra 1 

They converse. Is it of me ?. Is it of^ ? If so, he will 

laugh. A world to see that man laugh, and know it is a tine. 
If he dd,*[ shall soon cast off the load that ie crushing my heart 1 

He laughs not— not even a smile is traceable on his sombre 
features. She has. not. told him, and. well for him she has not. 
Prudence, perchance** restrains her tongue ; she might guess the 
result. 

They are on their feet again ; she masks. Ijurra leads her to 
the dance ; they front to each other ; they whirl away — away ; 
they are lost among the maskers I 

* * * * * * 

“ Some wine, mozo 1” 

A deep long draught, a few seconds spent in buckling on my 
sword, a few more in reaching the gate, one spring, and my 
saddled steed was under me. 

I rode wittKdesperate heart and hot head ; but the cool night- 
air, the motion of my horse, and his proud spirit, mingling with 
mine, gave me relief, and I felt-calmer. On reaching the ran- 
cheria, I found my lieutenants still up, eating their rudely cooked 


LOVE-THOUGHTS. 


87 


supper. As my appetite was roused, I joined them at their 
meal ; and their friendly converse restored for the time my 
spirits equanimity. 


CHAPTER XIY. 

LOVE-THOUGHTS. 

A dread feeling is, jealousy, mortified vanity, or whatever you 
may designate the disappointment of love. I have experienced 
the sting of shame, the blight of broken fortune, the fear of death 
itself ; yet none of these ever wrung my heart so rudely as the 
pang of an'uoreciprocated passion. The former are but transient 
trials, and their bitterness soon has an end. Jealousy, like the 
tooth of the serpent, leaves its poison in the sting, and long and 
slow is the healing of its wound. Well knew he this, that master 
of the human heart : Iago’s prayer was not meant for mockery. 

To drown my mortification, I had drunk wine freely at the 
ball ; and on returning home, had continued my potations with 
the more fiery spirit of M Catalan.” By this means I gained 
relief and sleep, but only of- short duration. Long before day I 
was awake — awake to the double bitterness of jealousy and 
shame-*-awake to both mental and physical pain, for the 'fumes 
of the vile* stuff I had drunk wracked my brain, as though they 
w'onld burst open my skull. An ounce of opium would not have 
set me to sleep again, and I tossed in my couch like one laboring 
under delirium. 

Of course thedncidents of the preceeding night were upper- 
most in my mincL Every scene and action that had occurred, 
were as. plainly before me, as if I was again witnessing them. 
Every effort to alienate my thoughts, and fix them upon some 
other theme, proved vain and idle : they ever returned to the 


88 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


same' circle of reflections, in the centre of which wai^ Isolina de > 
Vargas 1 I -thought of all that had passed, of all she had said. 

I remembered, every word. How bitterly I remembered that 
scornful -laugh !— how bitterly that sarcastic- smile, when the 
double mask was removed 1 

The very remembrance of her beauty pained me ! It was now 
to me as to Tantalus the crystal waters, never to be tasted 
Before, I had formed hopes, had indulged in prospective dreams : 
the masquerade adventure had' dissipated them. I no longer 
hoped, no longer permitted myself to dream of pleasant times to 
come : I felt that I was scorned. 

This feeling produced a momentary revulsion in my thoughts. 
There were moments when I hated her, and vengeful- impulses 
Careered across my soul. 

These were fleeting moments : again before me rose that 
lovely form, that proud grand spirit, in the full entirety of it? 
power, and again my soul became absorbed in admiration, and 
yielded itself to its hopeless passion. It was far from being my 
first love, and, thus experienced, I could- reason upon it. I felt 
certain it was to be the-strongest and-stormiest of my life. 

I know of three loves distinct in kind and power. First, 
when the passion is reciprocated — when the heart of the beloved 
yields back thought for thought, and throb for throb, without 
one reserved pulsation. This is- bliss upon- earth — not always 
long-lived— ending perchance in a species of sublimated- friend- 
ship. To have is no longer to desire. 

The second is love entirely, unrequited — love that never knew 
word or smile of encouragement, no soft whisper to fan it into 
flame, no ray of hope to feed upon. Such dies of inanition, th* 
sooner that its object is out of the way, and absence will con* 
quer it in time. 

The third is the love that ? dotes yet doubts,” that doubts 
Out never dies — no, never. The jealousy that pains, only sus 
tains it ; it lives, on, now happy in the honeyed convictiou o* 


LOVE-THOUGHTS. 


89 


triumph, now smarting under real or fancied scorn — on, on, so 
long as its object is accessible to- sight or hearing ! No matter 
how worthless that object may be or become — no matter how 
lost or fallen : love-regards. not this. It has naught to do with 
the moral part of our nature. Beauty is the shrine of its wor- 
ship, and beauty is not morality. 

In my own mind, I am conscious of three elements or classes 
of feeling : the moral, the intellectual , and what I may term the 
passional — the last as distinct from either of the other two as 
oil from -.-spirits or water. To the last belongs love, which I 
repeat again, has- no sympathy with the moral feelings of our 
nature, but alas ! as one might almost believe, with their 
opposite. Even a plain but wicked coquette will captivate 
more hearts than a beautiful saint, and the brilliant murderess, 
ere now, has made.conquests at the very foot of the scaffold ! 

Jt^pains me to pronounce these- couvictions, derived as they 
are from* experience. There is as little gain as pleasure in so 
doing, but popularity must be. sacrificed at the shrine of truth. 
For the sake of effect, I shall not play false with philosophy. 

Rough ranger as I was, I had studied -psychology sufficiently 
to understand these truths ; and I endeavored to analyze my 
passion for this girl or woman — to discover why I loved her. 
Her physical beauty was of the highest order, and that no doubt 
was an element ; but it was not all. Had I merely looked upon 
this. beauty under ordinary circumstances — that is r without-com- 
ing in contact with the spirit that animated it — I might hav* 
loved her, or I might not. It was the-spirit, then, that had won 
me, though not alone. The same gem in a less brilliant setting 
might have failed to draw my admiration. I was the captive 
both of the- spirit and the form. Soul and body had co-operated 
in -producing my passion, and this may account for its suddenness 
and profundity. Why I loved her person, I- knew — I was not 
iguorant of the laws of- beauty— but why the-spirit, I knew not 
Certainly not from any idea I had formed of her high mora 


00 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


qualities ; I had no evidence of these. Of her courage, even to 
daring, I had proof ; of energy aud determined will ; of the 
power of thought, quick and versatile ; but these are not moral 
qualities, they are not even feminine, ? True, she wept over her 
slaia-steed. Humanity/ I have known a hardened^?r<?/te-weep 
bitter tears for her tortoise-shell cat. She refused to. take from 
me my.horse. Generosity? She had a thousand within sight. 
Alas ! in thus reviewing all that had passed between myself 
and the beautiful Isolina, in search of her moral qualities, 1 met 
with but little success 1 

Mystery of our nature ! I loved her not the less 1 And yet 
my passion was pure, and I do not believe that my heart was 
wicked. Mystery of our nature I He who reads all hearts 
alone can solve thee ! 

I loved without reason; but I loved now without hope. 
Hope I had before that night. Her glance through the turrets 
— her. note — its, contents — ajword or two at other times, had 
inspired me with hopes, however faint they were. The incident 
in the ball-room had crushed them. 

Ijurra’s ^dark face kept lowering before me; even in my 
visions he was always by her side. What was between the 
two ? Perhaps a nearer relationship than that of cousin ? Per- 
haps they were affianced ? Married ? 

The thought maddened me. 

I could rest upon my couch no longer. I rose and sought the 
open air ; I climbed to the azotea, and paced it to and fro, as 
the tiger walks his cage. My thoughts were wild, and my 
movements without method. To add to the -bitterness of my 
reflections, I now discovered that I had sustained a-loss — not in 
property, but something that annoyed me still more. I had lost 
the order and it3 .enclosure — the note of Don Ramon. I had 
dropped. them on the day in which they w r ere received, and I 
believed ir. the patio of the hacienda, where they must have been 
picked up at once. If by Don Ramon himself, then all was well; 


AN ODD EPISTLE. 


91 


but if they had fallen \nto the hands of some of the leathern-dad 
herdsmen, ill affected to Don Ramon, it might be an awkward 
affair for that gentleman — indeed ftuvmyself. Such-negfigence 
would scarcely be overlooked at head-quarters ; and 1 had ill- 
forebodings about the.result. It was one of my soul’s darkest 
hours. 

From its very darkness I might have known that’ light was 
near, for the proverb is equally true in the moral as in the mate- 
rial world. - Light was near. 


CHAPTER XT 

AN ODD EPISTLE. 

Breakfast I hardly tasted. A taso of chocolate and a small 
sugared cake — the desayuna of every Mexican — were brought, 
and these served me for breakfast. A glass of cognac and a 
Ilavanna were more to the purpose, and helped to stay the wild 
trembling of my nerves. Fortunately, there was no duty to 
perform, else I could ill have attended to it. I remaiued on the 
azotea till near mid-day. The storm raging within prevented 
me from taking note of what was passing around. The scenes 
iu the plaza, the rangers and their steeds, the “ greasers” in their 
striped blankets, the Indias squatted on their petates, the pretty 
poblanas, were all unnoticed by me. At intervals, my eyes 
rested upon the walls of the distant dwelling ; it was not so dis- 
tant but that a human form could have been- distinguished upon 
its roof, had one been there. There was- none, and twenty, ay 
fifty times, did I turn away my disappointed gaze. 

About noon, the sergeant of the guard reported that a Mexi* 
can wished to speaH with me : mechanically, I gave orders for 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


n 

the man to be sent up ; but it was not until he appeared before 
me that I thought of what I was doing. 

The presence of the Mexican at once roused me from my un- 
pleasant reverie. I recognised him as one of the vaqueros of 
Don Ramon de Yargas — the same I had seen on the plain during 
my first, interview with Isolina. 

There was- something in his^ manner that betokened him a 
messenger. A folded note, which he-drew from under his jerkin 
— after having glanced around to see whether he was noticed— 
confirmed my observation. 

I took the note. There was no superscription, nor did I stay 
to look for one. My fingers trembled as I tore open the seal. 
As my eye rested on the writing and recognised it, my heart 
throbbed so as almost to choke my utterance. I muttered some 
directions to the messenger ; and to conceal my emotion from 
him, I turned away and proceeded to the furthest corner of the 
azotea before reading the note. I called back to the man to go 
below, and wait for an answer ; and, them relieved of his pre- 
sence, I read as follows : 


•‘JwZyl*—. 

“ Gallant capitan L allow me to bid you a buenas dias, for I 
presume that, after theiatigues of last night, it is but morning 
with you yet. Did you dream of your sable belle ? ■ Poor 

devil P Ha, ha, ha I 'GalloM capitan!” 

I was provoked at this mode of address, for the “gallant” 
was rendered emphatic by underlining. It was a letter to taunt 
me for my ill behaviour. I felt inclined to fling it down, but my 
eye wandering over the paper, caught some words that induced 
me to read on. 

“ Gallant capitan ! I had a favorite mare. How foud I was 
of that creature you may understand, who are afflicted by a 
similar affection for the noble Moro. In an evil hour, your aim, 
too true, alas ! robbed me of my favorite, but you offered tc 


AN ODD EPISTLE. 


92 


repay me by robbing yourself, for well know I that the black is 
to you the dearest object upon earth. Indeed, were I the lady of 
your love, I should ill brook such a divided affection ! Well, 
mio capitan, I understood the generous. sacrifice you would have 
made, and forbade it ; but I know you are desirous of cancelling 
your debtr It is iu your power to do so. Listen P 

Some -hard conditions I anticipated would follow ; I recked 
uot of that. There was no sacrifice I was not ready to make. 
I would have dared any deed, however wild, to have won that 
proud heart, to have, inoculated it with the pain that was wring- 
ing my own. I read on : 

“ There is a horse,, famed in these parts as the ‘ white Steed 
of the Prairies ’ ( el cavallo bianco de los llanos). He is a wild 
horse, of course ; snow-white in color, beautiful in form, swift as 

the swallow . But why need I describe to you the ‘white 

steed of the prairies V you are a-Tejauo, and must have heard 
of him ere this ? Well, mia capitan, I have, long had a desire — 
a frantic one, let me add— to possess this horse. I have offered 
rewards to hunters — to our-own- vaqueros, for he sometimes ap- 
pears upon our plains — but to no purpose. Not one of them can 
capture, though they have often seen and chased him. Some say 
that he cannot be taken , that he is so fleet as to gallop, or rather 
glide out of sight in a glance, and that, too, on the open 
prairie 1 There are those who assert that he is a phantom, un 
demonio! Surely so beautiful a creature cannot be the devil? 
Besides, I have always heard— and, if I recollect aright, some 
one said so last night — that the devil was black. ‘Poor 
devil P Ha, ha, ha 1” 

I rather welcomed this allusion co my misconduct of the pre 
ceding night, for I began to feel easier under the perception that 
the whole affair was thus treated in jest, instead of the anger and 
scorn I had anticipated. With pleasanter presentiments, J 
read on : 


Of 


THE WAE-TKAIL. 


“ To the point, mio capitan. There are some incredulous peo- 
ple who believe the white steed of the prairies to be a myth, and 
deny his existence altogether. Carrambo ! I know that be does 
exist, and, what is more to my present purpose, he is — or was, 
but two hours ago-r-witbin ten miles of where I am writing this 
note 1 One of our vaqueros saw him near the banks of a beau- 
tiful arroyo river, which I know to be his favorite ground. For 
reasons known to me, the vaquero did not either chase or molest 
him ; but in breathless haste brought me the news. 

“.Now, capitan, gallant and-grand 1 there is but- one who can 
capture this famed horse, and, that is your puissant self 1 Ah 1 
you have made captive what was once as wild and free. Yes 1 you 
can do it — you and Moro ! 

“ Bring me the.white steed of the prairies ! I shall. cease to 
grieve for poor Lola. I shalL forgive you that- contratiempo. I 
shall forgive all — even your, rudeness to my double mask. Ha, 
ha, ha ! Bring me the white steed I the white steed ! 

“ Isolina.” 

As I finished readfng this singular epistle, a thrill of pleasure 
ran through my veins. I dwelt not on the oddness of its contents, 
thoroughly characteristic of the writer. Its meaning was clear 
enough. 

I teZ heard of the- white horse of the prairies — what hunter 
or trapper, trader or traveller, throughout all the wild borders 
of prairie-land f has not ? Many a romantic story of him had I 
listened to around the blazing camp-fire— ^many a tale of Ger- 
man-like diablerie, in which the white horse played hero. For 
nearly a. century has he figured in the legends of the-prairie 
“ mariner ” — a counterpart to the Flying Dutchman — the 
“ phantom-ship ” of the forecastle. Like- this, too, ubiquitous 
-Aseen to-day scouring the sandy plains of the Platte; to-morrow 
bounding over the broad llanos of Texas, a thousand miles to 
the southward I 


AN ODD EPISTLE. 


yr> 

That there- existed a white stallion of great speed and splendid 
proportions — that there werertwenty, perhaps a hundred such — 
among the countless^-herds of wild horses that roam over the 
great plains, I did.not for a moment-doubt. L myself had seeu 
and chased more than one that might have been termed ‘-‘-a mag- 
nificent animal,” and that no.ordinary horse could overtake; but 
the one known as “the white steed of the prairies” had a 
peculiar marking, that distinguished him from all the rest — his 
ears were blade l-^— only his ears, and these were of the deep color 
ct ebony. The rest of his body, mane and tail, was ^white as 
fresh-fallen snow. 

It was to this -singular and mysterious animal that the letter 
pointed ; it was the black-eared steed I was called upon to cap- 
ture. The contents of the note were specific and plain. One 
expression alone puzzled me : “ You have made- captive what was 

once as wild and free .” What ? I asked myself. I scarce 
dared to give, credence to the answer that leaped liked an exult- 
ing echo from out my heart ! 

There was a postscript, of course ; but this contained only 
“ business.” It gave minuter, details as to when, how, and where 
the white horse had been seen, and stated that the bearer of the 
note — tliOrVaquero who had seen him^-would act as my-guide. 

I pondered not long upon the strange request. Its fulfilment 
promised to recover me the position, which but a moment before 
I had looked upon as lost for ever. I at once resolved upon the 
undertaking. 

“ Yes, lovely Isolina ! if horse and man can do it, ere another 
sun sets, you shall be mistress of the white stud of the prairies P' 


90 


TEE WAR -TRAIL. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE MANADA. 

In half an hour after, with the vaquero for my guide, I rode 
quietly out of the rancheria. A dozen rangers followed close 
behind ; and having crossed the river at a ford nearly opposite 
the village, we struck off into the chapparal on the opposite 
side. 

The men whom I had chosen to accompany me were all old 
hunters, fellows who could “trail” and “ crease” with accurate 
aim. I had confidence in their skill, and, aided by them, I had 
great hopes we should find the game we were in search of. My 
hopes, however, would not have been so sanguine but for anothe; 
circumstance, it was this : Our guide had informed me, that-when 
he saw the white steed, the latter was in company with a large 
drove of mares — a manada — doubtless his harem. He would 
not be likely to separate from them, and even if these had since 
left the ground, they could, be the more easily “ trailed,” in con- 
sequence of their numbers. Indeed, but for this., prospect, our 
wild-horse hunt would have partaken largely of theeharacter of 
a “ wild-goose chase.” The-.steed, by all accounts of him, might 
have been seen upon one arroyo to-day, and by the banks of 
some other stream, a hundred miles off, on the morrow. The 
presence of his manada offered some guarantee, that he might 
still be near the ground where the vaquero had marked him. 
Once found, I trusted to the swiftness of my horse, and my own 
skill in the use of the lazo. 

As we rode along, I revealed to my followers the purpose of 
the expedition. All of them knew the white steed by fame ; 
one or two averred they had seen him in their prairie wander- 


THE MAN ADA 


97 


ings. The whole party were delighted at the idea of auch a 
“ scout,” and exhibited as much excitement as if I was leading 
them to a skirmish with guerilleros I 

The country through which we passed was at first a dense 
chapparal, consisting of the various thorny shrubs and plants for 
which this part of Mexico is so celebrated. The greater pro- 
portion belonged to the family of leguviinosa, — robinias , gledit- 
schias, and the Texan acacias of more than one species, there 
known as mezquite. Aloes, too, formed part of the undergrowth, 
to the no small annoyance of the traveller — the wild species 
known as the lechuguilla, or pita-plant, whose core is cooked for 
food, whose fibrous leaves serve for the manufacture of thread, 
cordage, or cloth — while its sap yields by distillation the fiery 
mezcal. Here and there, a tree yucca grew by the way, its 
fascicles of rigid leaves reminding one of the plumed heads of 
Indian warriors. Some I saw with edible fruits growing in 
clusters, like bunches of bananas. Several species are 'there of 
these fruit-bearing yuccas in the region of the Rio Grande, as 
yet unknown to the scientific botauist. I observed also the 
palmilla, or soap-plant, another yucca, whose roots yield an 
excellent substitute for soap ; and various forms of cactus — 
neven-out ot. sight omMexican soil — grew thickly around, a cha- 
racteristic feature of the landscape. Plants of humbler stature 
covered the surface, among which the syngenesists predominated; 
while the fetid artemisia, and the still more disagreeable odorous 
creosote plant ( Larrea Mezicana), grew upon spots that were 
sandy and arid. Pleasanter objects to the eye were the scarlet 
panicles of the Fouquiera splendens, then undescribed by bota- 
nists, and yet to become a favorite of the arboretums. I was in 
no mood for botanising at the time, but I well remember how I 
admired this elegant species — its tall culm-like stems, sur- 
mounted by panicles of brilliant flowers, rising high above tne 
level of the surrounding thicket, like banners above a host. Not 
that I possess the refined taste of a lover of flowers, and much 


D8 


THE WAR-TKArL. 


less then ; but cold must be the heart that could look upon the 
floral beauty of Mexico without remembering some portion o! its 
charms. Even th q. rudest of my followers could not otherwise 
than admire ; and once or twice, as we journeyed along, I could 
hear them give utterance to that fine epithet of the heart’s 
desire, “ Beautiful !” 

As we advanced, the aspect changed. The surface became 
freer of jungle ; a succession of glade and thicket ; in short, a 
“mesquite prairie.” Still advancing, the “openings” became 
larger, while the timbered surface diminished in extent, and now 
and then the glades joined each other without interruption. 

We had ridden nearly ten miles without drawing bridle, when 
our guide struck upon the trail of the manada. Several of the 
old hunters, without dismounting, pronounced the tracks to be 
those of wild- wares, which they easily distinguished from horse 
tracks. Their judgment proved correct ; for -folio wing the trail 
but a short distance further, we came full in sight of the drove, 
which the vaquero confidently pronounced was the manada we 
were in search of ! 

So far our success equalled our expectations ; but to get sight 
of a caballada of wild horses; and to capture its swiftest steed, are 
two things of very .unequal difficulty. This, fact my anxiously 
beating heart and quickly throbbing pulse revealed to me at the 
moment. It would be difficult to describe the mingled feelings 
of anxious doubt and joyous hope that passed through my mind, 
as from afar off I gazed upon that shy herd, still unconscious of 
our approach. 

Thq. prairie upon which the mares were browsing was more 
than a mile in width, and, like- those we had been passing 
through, it was surrounded by the low ehapparal forest, al- 
though there were avenues that communicated with other open- 
ings of a similar kind. Near its centre was the manada. Soma 
of the. mares were quietly browsing upon the grass, while others 
were frisking and playing about, now rearing up as if iu combat. 


THE MANADA 


99 


now rushing in wild gallop, their tossed manes and full tails 
flung loosely upon the wind. Even in the distance we could 
trace the full rounded development of their bodies, and their 
smooth coats, glistening under the sun, denoted their fair condi- 
tion. They were of all colors known to the horse, for in this the 
race of the^ Spanish horse is somewhat peculiar. There were 
bays, and blacks, and whites — the last being most numerous. 
There were greys, both iron and roan, and duns with white manes 
and tails, and some of a mole color, and not a few of the kind 
known in Mexico as pintados (piebalds) — for spotted horses are 
not uncommon among the mustangs — all of course with full 
manes and tails, since the mutilating shears of the jockey had 
never curtailed their flowing glories. 

But where was the lord of this splendid harem ? — where the 
steed ? This was the thought that was uppermost in the mind 
of all, the question upon every tongue. Our eyes-wandered ovei 
the herd, now here, now there. White horses there were, num- 
bers of them, but it needed but a glance to tell that the “ steed 
of the prairies ” was not there. 

We eyed each other w*lth looks of disappointment. Even my 
companions felt that ; but a far more bitter feeling was- growing 
upon me as I gazed upon the leaderless troop. Could I -have 
captured and carried back the whole drove, the present would 
not have purchased one smile from Isolina. The steed was not 
amoug them I 

He might still be in the neighborhood ; or had he forsaken the 
. manada altogether, and gono far away over the wide prairie in 
search of new conquests ? The vaquero believed he was not far 
off. I had faith in this man’s opinion, who, having passed his 
life in the observation of wild and half-wild horses, had a perfect 
knowledge of their habits. There was hope then. The steed 
mio-ht be near ; perhaps lying down in the shade of the thicket ; 
perhaps with a portion of the manada or some favorite in ona 
of the adjacent glades. If so, our guide assured us we should 


100 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


goon have him in view. He would soon bring the steed upon the 
ground. 

How ? Simply by starting the mares, whose- neigh of alarm 
would be. heard from afar. 

The plan seemed feasible enough ; but it was advisable that 
we should surround the manada before attempting to disturb 
them, else they might gallop off in the opposite direction before 
any of us could get near. Without delay, we proceeded to effect 
the “ surround.” 

The chapparal aided us by concealing our movements ; and in 
half an hour we had deployed around the prairie. 

The drove still browsed and played. They had no suspicion 
that a cordon of hunters was being formed around them, else 
they would have long since galloped away. Of all wild crea- 
tures, the- shiest is the wild horse ; the deer, the antelope, and 
buffalo are far less fearful of the approach of man. The mustang 
seems to understand the4oom that awaits him in captivity. One 
could almost fancy that the runaways from the- settlements — 
occasionally seen amongst them — had poured into their ears the 
tale of their hardship and long endurance. 

I had myself rid den tathe opposite side of the prairie, in- order 
tu be certain when the- circle was., complete. I was now alone, 
bating dropped my companions at intervals along the margin of 
the timber. I had brought with me the bugle, with a note or 
two of which I. intended to give the. alarm to the mares. I had 
placed myself in a clump of mezquite trees, and was-about rais- 
ing the horn to my lips, when a shrill scream from behind caused 
me to bring down the instrument, aud turn suddenly in my seat. 
For a moment, I was in doubt as to what could have produced 
such a singular utterance, when a second time it fell on rny 
err, and I then, recognised it. It was the neigh of the^prairie 
stallion ! 

Near me was a break in the thicket, a sort of avenue leading 
out into another prairie. In this I could hear the hoof-stroke 


THE MAN AD A. 


101 


of a horse going at a gallop. As fast as the underwood would 
allow, I pressed forward and.came out upon the edge of the open 
ground ; but the sun, low down, flashed in my eyes, and I could 
see no object distinctly. The tread of the hoofs and the shrill 
neighing still rang in my ears. Presently, the dazzling light no 
longer quite, blinded me ; I shaded my .eyes with my -hand, and 
couldqperceive the form of a noble steed stretching in full gallop 
down the avenue, and coming in the direction of the manada. 
Half-a-dozen„.springs brought him opposite ; the beam was no 
longer in my eyes ; and as he galloped past, I saw before 
me the “ white steed of the prairies.” There was no mistaking 
the„marks of that splendid creature : there was the snow-white 
body, the ears of jetty blackness, the. blue muzzle, the red, pro- 
jecting^nostril, the broad . oval quarters, the rounded aud sym- 
metric limbs — all the points of an incomparable steed ! 

Like amarrow, he shot past. He did not arrest his- pace for an 
instant, but galloped on in a direct line for the- drove. 

The mares had answered his first -signal with a responsive 
neigh; aud tossing up their heads the whole manada was instantly 
in motion. In a few seconds they stood at rest again , formed in 
line — as~exact as.could have been done by a troop of- cavalry— 
and ironting their leader as he,galloped up. Indeed, -standing 
as they were, with their heads high in air, it was easy to fancy 
them mounted men in the array of battle ; and often have the 
wild horses been mistaken for such by the prairie traveller 1 

Concealment or stratagem could no longer avail ; the chase 
was fairly up. Speed and the lazo must now decide the result ; 
and with this -conviction, I gave Moro the spur, and bounded into 
the open plain. The neighing of the steed had signaled my com- 
panions, who shot almost simultaneously out of the timber, and 
spurred towards the drove, yelling as they came. 

I had no eyes for aught but the white, steed, and after him I 
directed., myself. On nearing the line of mares, he halted in his 
wild gallop, twice reared his body upward, as if to reconnoitre 


m 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


the, ground ; and then, uttering another of his shrill screams, 
broke off in a direct line towards the edge of the prairie. A wide 
avenue leading out in that direction seemed to have guided his 
instincts. The manada followed, at first galloping in line ; but 
this was soon-broken, as the swifter individuals passed ahead of 
the others, and the drove became strung out upon the prairie. 

Through the opening now swept the chase — the -pursuers 
keenly plying the spur, the pursued straining every muscle to 
escape. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE HUNT OF THE WILD HORSE. 

My gallant horse soon gave proof of his superior qualities. 
One after another of my companions was . passed ; and as we 
cleared the avenue and entered a second prairie, I found myself 
mixing with the hindmost of the wild mares. Pretty-creatures 
some of them were ; and upon any other occasion, I should have 
been tempted to fling a lazo over one of them, which I might 
easily have done. Then I only thought of getting them out of 
the way, as they were hindering my onward gallop. Before- we 
had quite crossed the second prairie, I had forged into the front 
rank, and the mares, seeing I had headed them, broke to the 
right and left, and scattered away. All were now behind me, all 
but thevwhite steed ; he alone kept the course, at intervals 
uttering the same shrill neigh, as if to tantalize and lure me on. 
He was yet far in advance, and apparently running at his _eg.se ! 

The' horse I bestrode needed neither spur nor guidance ; he 
saw before him the object of the chase, aud he divined the-wili 
of his rider. I felt him rising under me like a sea-wave. His 
hoofs struck the turf without impinging upon it. At each 


THE HUNT OF THE WILD HORSE. 


103 


fresh spring, he came up with elastic, rebound, while his flanks 
heaved with the conscious possession of power. 

Before the. second prairie was crossed, he had gained consider- 
ably upon the -.white steed ; but to my .chagrin, I now -saw the 
latter dash„right into the thicket. 

I found a path, and followed. My ear served to- guide me 
for the branches crackled as the wild horse broke through. Now 
and then I caught glimpses of his white body, glancing among 
the green leaves. 

Apprehensive of losing him, I rode recklessly after, now 
breasting the thicket, now tracing its labyrinthine aisles. I 
heeded not the thorny mimosas ; my horse heeded them not ; 
but large trees of the false acacia (robinia) stood thickly in the 
way, and their horizontal branches hindered me. Often was I 
obliged to bend flat to the saddle, in order to pass under them. 
All this was in favor of the pursued, and against the pursuer. 

I longed for the open prairie, aud to my relief it at length ap- 
peared, not yet quite treeless, but studded with timber “ islands/’ 
Amid these the. white steed was. sailing off; but in- passing 
through the thicket, he had gained ground, and was now a loug 
way in advance of me. He was making for the open plain that 
lay beyond, and this showed that it was his habit to trust to his 
heels for safety. Perhaps, with such a pursuer, he would have 
been safer to have kept the chapparal ; but that remained to be 
seen. 

In ten minutes’ time, we had passed through the timber 
islands, and now the prairie — the grand, limitless prairie — 
stretched before us, far beyond the reach of vision. 

On goes the chase over its grassy level — on till the trees are 
no longer behind us, and the eye sees nought but the green 
savannah, and the blue canopy arching over it — on, across the 
centre of that vast circle which has for its boundary the whole 
horizon I 

The ‘rangers, lost in the mazes of the chapparal, have long 


104 


THE WAR -TRAIL. 


since fallen off; the mustangs have gone back ; on all that wide 
plain, but two objects appear — the snow-white form of the flying 
steed, and the dark horseman that follows 1 

It is a long wild ride, a cruel gallop for my matchless Moro. 
Ten miles of the prairie have we passed— ipore than that — and 
as yet I have neither used whip nor spur. The brave steed needs 
no such prompting ; he, too, has his interest in the chase — the 
ambition not to be outrun. My motive is different : I think only 
of the smiles of a woman ; but such motives ere now has led to 
the loss of a crown or the conquest of a world. On, Moro ! on l 
you must overtake him or die I 

There is no longer an obstacle. Ho cannot hide from us 
here. The plain, with its sward of short grass, is level and 
smooth as the sleeping ocean • not an object intrudes upon the 
sight. He cannot conceal himself anywhere. There is-still ar 
hour oL sunlight ; he .cannot Jude, from, us in the darkness : ere 
that cornes-down, he shall be our-captive. On, Moro ! on ! 

On we glide in silence. The steed has-ceased to -utter his 
taunting jieigh; he hasjost confidence-in hisjspeed ; he now runs 
in dread. Never before has he been so-sorely pressed. He runs 
in- silence, and so, too, his pursuer. Not a sound i& heard but 
the stroke of the galloping hoofs — an impressive silence, that 
betokens the earnestness of the chase. 

Less than two hundred yards separate us ; I feeL certain of 
victory. A touch of the spur would now bring, Moro within 
range ; it is time to put an end to this desperate ride. Now, 
brave Moro, -another stretch, and you shall have rest 1 

I look to myjazo ; it hangs foiled over the horn of my sad- 
dle : one end is fast to a ring and staple firmly riveted in the 
tree-wood. Is the loop- clear and free. It is. The coil — is it 
straight ? Yes ; all as it should be. 

I lift the coil, and rest it lightly over myJbridle arm : I Sepa- 
rate the <noose, and "hold it in my right hand. I am ready — 
God of Heaven ! the steed 2- 


THE PHANTOM HORSE. 


105 


It was a wild exclamation, but it was_ drawn from me by no 
common cause. In arranging my lazo, I had taken my eyes 
from the chase, only for a moment : when I looked out again, 
the horse had disappeared ! ’ 

With a mechanical movement I drew bridle, almost wrenching 
my horse upon his haunches • indeed, the animal had half halted 
of his . owil accord, and with a low whimper seemed to express 
terror. What could it mean ? Where was the wild horse ? 

I wheeled round, and round again, scanning the prairie on 
every side— ^-though a single .. glance might have . served. The 
plain, as already described, was level as a table ; the horizon 
bounded the view : there was neither rock nor tree, nor bush nor 
weeds, nor -even long grass. The sward was of the kind known 
upon the prairies as “ buffalo-grass” ( Sesleria dadyloides ) , short 
when full grown, but then rising scarcely two inches above the 
soil. A serpent could hardly have found concealment under it, 
but a horse Merciful heaven 1 wJwre was the steed ? 

An indefinable feeling of awe crept over me : I trembled ; I 
felt my horse trembling between my thighs. He was covered 
with foam and sweat ; so was I — the effects of the hard ride; 
but the cold perspiration of terror was fast coming upon me. 
The mystery was heavy and appalling ! 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE PHANTOM HORSE. 

I have encountered dangers— not a few— but they were the 
ordinary perils of flood and field, and I understood them. I have 
had one limb broken, and its fellow bored with an ounce of lead. 
I have swam from a sinking ship, and have fallen upon the bat* 


106 


TIIE WAR-TRAIL. 


tie-field. I have, looked at the muzzles of a hundred muskets 
aimed at my person, at less than thirty yards’ distance, and felt 
the certainty of death ; though the volley was fired, and I still 
live. Well, you will, no doubt, acknowledge these to be perils. 
Do not mistake me ; I am not boasting of having encountered 
them ; I met them with more or less courage — some of them 
with fear ; but if the fears inspired by all were combined into 
one emotion of.-terror, it would not-equal in intensity* that which 
I -experienced at the moment I pulled up my horse upon the 
prairie. 

I have never been given to superstition ; perhaps my religion 
is not strong enough for that ; but at that moment 1 could not 
help yielding to a full belief in the supernatural. There was no 
natural cause-^-I could think of none — that would account for 
the mysterious disappearance of the horse, I had often-sneered 
at the credulous sailor and his phantom ship : had I lived to look 
upon a phenomenon equally strange, yet true — a phantom 

horse ? 

% 

The hunters and trappers had, indeed, invested the white steed 
with this character ; their stories recurred to my memory at the 
moment. I had used to smile at the simple credulity of the nar- 
rators. I was now prepared to believe them. They were- true l 

Or was I dreaming ? Was it not all a dream ? The' search 
for the white steed — the surround — the chase — the long, long 
gallop ? 

For some moments I actually fancied that such might be the 
case ; but soon my consciousness became clear again ; I was in 
the saddle, and my panting, smoking steed was under me. That 
was real and positive. I remembered all the-incidents of the 
chase. They, too, were- real, of a certainty ; the white steed had 
been there : he was gone. The trappers spoke the- truth. The 
horse was a phantom 1 

Oppressed with this thought, which had almost become a con- 
viction, I sat in my saddle, bent and silent, my eyes turned upon 


THE PHANTOM HOUSE. 


107 


the earth, but their gaze fixed upon vacuity. The lazo had 
dropped from my fingers, and the bridle reins trailed untouched 
over the withers of my horse. 

******* 

My belief in the ..supernatural .was of short duration ; how 
long I s know not, for, during its continuance, 1 remained in a 
state of bewilderment. My senses at length returned. My 
eyes had fallen upon a fresh hoof-print on the turf, directly in 
front of me. I knew it was that made by the white steed, and 
this&woke me to a process of reasoning. Had the horse been a 
phantom, he w^ould not have made a track ? I had never heard 
of the. track of a ghost ; though a r horse-ghost might be different 
from the common kind 1 

My reflections on this head ended in the determination to fol- 
low the, trail as far as it led ; of course to the point where the 
steed must have mounted into the air, or evaporated — the scene 
of his ^apotheosis. 

With this resolve, I gathered my reins, and rode forward upon 
the frail, keeping my eyes fixed upon the hoof-prints. The line 
was direct, and I had ridden nearly two hundred yards, when my 
horse came to a sudden stop. I looked out forward to discover 
the .cause of his halting ; with that glance, vanished my new-born 
superstitions. 

At the distance of some thirty paces, a dark line was seen 
upon the prairie, running transversely to the course I was fol- 
lowing. It appeared to be a narrow crack in the plain ; but on 
spurring nearer, it proved to be a fissure of considerable width — 
one of those formations known throughout Spanish America as 
barrancas. The earth yawned, as though rent by an earthquake ; 
but water had evidently something to do with its formation. It 
was of nearly equal width at top and bottom, and its bed was 
covered with a debris of rocks rounded by attrition. Its sides 
were perfectly vertical, and the stratification, even to the surface- 
turf, exactly corresponded — thus rendering it invisible at tin# 


103 - 


TIIE WAR-TRAIL. 


distance of but a few paces, from its brink. It appeared to shal- 
low to the right, and no doubt ended not fat off in that direction. 
Towards the left, on the contrary, I could see that it became 
deeper and wider. A t the point where I had reached it, its 
bottom was nearly twenty feet from the surface of the prairie. 

Of course, the disappearance of the white steed was no longer 
a mystery. He had made a fearful leap — nearly twenty feet 
sheer I There was the tornjmrf on the brink of the chasm, and 
the displacement of the loose stones, where he had -bounded into 
its bed. He had gone to the„ left— nlown the. barranca. The 
abrasion of hisdioofs was risible upon the, rocks. 

I looked down the defile : he was-not to be seen. The -bar- 
ranca-turned off at an angle at no great distance. He had 
already passed round the angle, and was out of sight. It was 
clear that-he had.escaped ; that to- follow would be of- no . use ; 
and with this reflection I abandoned all thoughts of carrying the 
chase further. 

After giving way to a pang or two of disappointment, I 
began to think of the position in which I had placed myself. It 
is true I was now relieved from the feeling of aw'e that, but a 
moment before, had. oppressed me; but ray. situation was far 
from being a pleasant one. I was at. least thirty miles from the 
rancheria, and I could not tell in what direction it lay. The sun 
was setting, and therefore I had the points of the compass ; but 
I had not the slightest idea whether we had ridden eastward or 
westward, after leaving the settlements. I might ride back on 
my own trail ; perhaps I might : it was a doubtful point. 
Neither through the timber, nor on the open prairie, had the 
chase gone in a direct line. Moreover, I noticed in many places, 
as we glided swiftly along, that the turf was cut up by numerous 
hoof-tracks droves of mustangs had passed over the ground. 
It would be no. easy matter for me to retrace the. windings of 
that dong-gallop. 

One thing was evident ; it would be useless for me to make 


THE PHANTOM HORSE. 


109 


the attempt before morning. There was not half an hour of sun 
left, and at night the trail could not be followed. I had no 
alternative but to remain where I was until another day broke. 

But how...remain ? I wasJiungry ; still worse, I was choking 
with -thirst. Not a drop of water was near ; I had seen none 
for twenty miles. The long hot ride had made me thirst to an 
unusual degree, and my poor horse was in a similar condition. 
The .knowledge that no water was near, added, as it always 
does, to the agony, and rendered the physical want more difficult 
to be-endured. 

I scanned the bottom of the barranca, and tracked it with my 
eye as, far as I could see : it was. waterless as the plain itself. 
The rocks., rested upon dry sand and gravel ; not a drop of the 
wished-for element appeared within its bed, although it was evi- 
dent that at -some time a .torrent must have swept along its 
channel. 

After some reflection, it occurred to me that by following the 
barranca, downward, I might find water ; at least, this was the 
mostjikely direction in which to search for it. I rode 'forward, 
therefore, ^directing my horse along the edge of the chasm. The 
fissure, deepened as I advanced, until, at the distance of -a mile 
from where I first struck it, the gulf yawned full fifty feet into 
the plain, the sides still preserving their verticaL steepness 1 

The sun had now gone down ; the twilight promised to be a 
short one. I dared not -traverse that plain in the darkness ; I 
might ride over the precipitous edge of the barranca. Besides, 
it was not the only one : I saw there were others — smaller ones 
— the beds of tributary streams in times of rain. These branched 
off diagonally or at right angles, and were more or less deep and 
steep. 

Night was fast closing over the prairie ; I dared not ride fur- 
ther amid these perilous abysms. I musi^oon come to a halt, 
without finding water. I should have to spend the long hours 
without relief. The -thought of such a night was fearful. 


110 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


I was still jiding slowly onward, mechanically conducting my 
horse, when a .bright object fell under my eyes, causing me to 
start in my saddle with an exclamation of joy. It was the gleam 
of water. I saw it in a westerly direction, the direction in which 
I was goincr. It was a small lake, or — in the phraseology of 
the country — a pond. It was not in the bottom of the ravine, 
where I had hitherto been looking for water, but up on the high 
prairie. There was no timber around it, no sedge ; its shores 
were without vegetation of any kind, and its surface appeared to 
correspond with the level of the plain itself. 

I rode forward with joyful anticipations, yet not without some 
anxiety Was it a mirage 1 It might b^ — often had I been 
deceived by such appearances. But no : it had not the filmy, 
gauze like halo that hangs over the mirage. Its outlines were 
sharply.defined by the prairie turf, and the last lingering rays of 
the sun glistened upon its surface. It was water 1 

Fully assured of this, I rode, forward aj; a more rapid rate. 

I had got within two hundred paces c^-the spot, keeping my 
eyes fixed upon the glistening water, when all at once my horse 
started, and drew back ! I looked ahead to discover the cause. 
The twilight had nearly passed, but in the obscurity I could still 
distinguish the surface of the prairie. The barranca again 
frowned before me, running transversely across my path. To my 
chagrin, I perceived that the chasm had made a sudden turn, 
and that the pond was on its opposite side ! 


A PRAIRIE DREAM. 


Ill 


CHAPTER XIX. 

A PRAIRIE DREAM. 

There was no hope of crossing in the darkness. The barranca 
was here deeper than at any point above ; so deep that I could 
but indistinctly see the rocky boulders at Its bottom. Perhaps 
with the daylight I might be able to find a crossing-place ; but 
from that doubtful hypothesis I derived little consolation. 

It had now grown quite dark, and I had no choice but to 
pass the night where I was, though I anticipated a night of 
torture. 

I dropped to the ground, and having led my horse a few rods 
into the prairie, so as to keep him clear of the precipice, I 
relieved him of his saddle and bridle, and left him to browse to 
the full length of the lazo. For myself, I had but few prepara- 
tions to make : there was no supper to be cooked, but eating was 
a matter of secondary importance on that occasion. I should 
have preferred a cup of water to a roast turkey. 

I had but few implements to dispose of in my temporary 
camp. My rifle and hunting-knife, with horn and pouch, and 
the double-headed gourd, which served as water-canteen, and 
which, alas 1 had been emptied at an early hour of the day. 
Fortunately, my Mexican blanket was buckled on the croupe. 
This I unstrapped, and having enveloped myself in its ample 
folds, and placed my head in the hollow of my saddle, I com- 
posed myself as well as I could, in the hope of falling asleep. 

For a long time this luxury was denied me. The torture of- 
thirst will rob one of sleep as effectually as the stinging pain of 
toothache. I turned, and turned again, glaring at the moon ; 


112 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


she was, visible only at intervals, as black clouds were coursing 
across the ^anopy ; but when she sjione out, her light caused 
the little lake to glisten like a sheet of . silver. Oh t how that 
bright^water, mocked me with its wavy ripple 1 I could compre- 
hend the sufferings of Tantalus. I thought at the time that the 
gods, could not have devised a more exquisite torture for the 
royal Lydian. 

After some, time, the pain of thirst was less intensely felt. 
Perhaps the cold . damp air of night had the effect of relieving it ; 
but it is .more likely that fatigue and long endurance had ren 
dered the sense less acute. Whatever may have been the cause, 
I suffered less, and felt myself yielding to sleep. There was no 
sound to keep me awake : perfect stillness reigned around ; even 
the usual howling bark of the prairie wolf did not reach my ear. 
The place, seemed too lonely for this almost ubiquitous night- 
prowler. The only sign of , life that -told me I was not. alone was 
the occasionaLstroke of my steea’sjioof upon thaJiard turf, and 
the crop-crop ” that , told me he was busy with the- short 
buffalo-grass. But these were soothing sounds, as they admon- 
ished me that my faithful companion was, enjoying himself after 
his hard gallop, and strengthened my desire for repose. 

I slept, but not lightly. No ; my sleep was. heavy, and full 
of troubled dreams. I have a sort of half belief that the-ro/e 
we., play in thesa.dream-scenes-wear the body as much as if we 
enacted it in reality. I have often awaked from such visions 
feeble from fatigue. If such be the fact, during that night upon 
the prairie I went through the toils of the preceding day with 
considerable additions. First of all, I was in the-presence of a 
lovely woman : she was dark-eyed, dark-haired — a brunette — a 
beauty. I traced the features of Isolina. I gazed in her eyes ; 
1 was happy in her smiles ; I fancied I was beloved. Bright 
objects were around me. The whole scene was rose-color. 

This was a short episode : it was interrupted. I heard shouts 
and savage yells. I looked out : the house was surrounded by 


A PRAIRIE DREAM. 


113 


Indians 1 They were already within the enclosure ; and the 
i moment, after*. crowds of them entered the house. There was 
much struggling and confusion, I battled with such arms as 1 
| could lay hold of ; several fell before me ; but one — a tall 
savage, the^chief, as 1 though t-^threw his arms around my mis- 
tress, and carried her away out of my sight. 

I jremember not how I got mounted ; but I was upon horse- 
back, and galloping over the wide prairie in pursuit of the 
ravisher. I could.see thQjsavage ahead upon a snow-white steed, 
withjsolina in his-urms. I urged my horse with voice and spur, 
but, as I -thought, for long, long- hours in vain. The white steed 
still kept-far in the advance ; and I-could come no nearer him. 
j I thought the savage had changed his form. He was no longer 
an Indian chief, but the fiend himself : I saw the. horns upon his 
head ; his feet were-cloven hoofs ! I thought he was luring me 
to the -brink of some fell precipice, and I had no longer the 
power to.stay my horse. Ha 1 The demon and his phantom- 
horse have gone over the cliff! They have carried her along 
with them ! I must follow — I cannot remain behind. I am on 
the brink. My steed springs over the chasm. I am falling— 

; falling — falling ! 

I reach the rocks at length. I am not killed : how strange I 
am not crushed ! But no ; I still live. Yet I suffer. Thirst 
chokes and tortures me : my heart and brain are aching, and my 
tongue is on fire. The sound of water is in my ears : a .torrent 
rushes by, near me. If I could only reach it, I might drink and 
live : but I cannot move ; I am chained to the rocks. I grasp 
one after another, and endeavor to drag myself along: I par- 
tially succeed ; but oh, what efforts I make. The labor exhausts 
my strength. I renew my exertions. I am gaining ground : 
rock after rock is passed. I have neared the rushing water ; I 
*ieel its cold spray sprinkling me. I am saved ! 

* * * * * * * 

After .such -fashion ran my dream. It was the shadow of a 


114 : 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


reality, somewhat disorganized ; but the most pleasant reality 
was that which awoke me. I found myself in the processor 
being sprinkled, not by the spray of a torrent, but by a. plashing 
shower from the .clouds 1 Under other circumstances, this might 
have been less welcome, but now I hailed it with a shout of joy 
The thunder was rolling almost continuously ; lightning blazed 
at short intervals ; and I could hear the roar of a torrent pass- 
ing down the barranca. 

To assuage thirst was my first thought ; and for this purpose, 
I stretched out my concave palms, and held my mouth wide 
open, thus drinking from the very fountains of the sky. Though 
the drops fell tliick and heavy, the process was too slow, and a 
better plan suggested itself. I knew that my scrape was water- 
proof : it was one of the best of Parras fabric, and had cost me 
an hundred silver dollars. This I spread to its full extent, press- 
ing the central parts into a hollow of the prairie. In five min- 
utes’ time, I had forgotten what thirst was, and wondered how 
such a thing should have caused me so much torture ! 

Moro drank from the same “ trough,” and betook himself to 
the grass again. The under side of the blanket was still dry, 
and the patch of ground which it had sheltered. Along this I 
stretched myself, drew the serapd over me ; and after listening a 
while to the loud lullaby of the thunder, fell fast asleep. 


LOST UPON THE PRAIRIE. 


Ii5 


CHAPTER XX. 

LOST UPON THE PRAIRIE. 

I slept sweetly and soundly. I had no dreams, or only such 
as were light, and forgotten with the return of consciousness. 

It was late when I awoke. A bright sun was mounting into 
the blue and cloudless sky. This orb was already many degrees 
j above the horizon. 

Hunger was the father of my first thought. I had eaten 
nothing since an early hour of the preceding day, and then only 
the light desayuna of sweet-cake and chocolate. To one not 
accustomed to long fasting, a single day without food will give 
some idea of the pain of hunger ; that pain will increase upon a 
second day, and by the third will have reached its maximum. 
Upon the fourth and fifth, the body grows weaker, and the brain 
becomes deranged ; the nerve, however, is less acute, and though 
the suffering is still intense, hunger is never harder to endure 
than upon the second or third days. Of course, these remarks 
apply only to those not habituated to long fasts. I have known 
men who could endure hunger for six days, and feel less pain 
than others under a fast of twenty-four hours. Indians or 
prairie-hunters were those men, and fortunately for them that 
they are endowed with such powers of endurance, often driven 
as they are into circumstances of the most dire necessity. Truly, 
“ God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb !” 

As I hav§ said, my first thought was of, something to eat. I 
rose to my feet, and with my eye swept the prairie in every direc- 
tion : no object, living or dead, greeted my sight ; beast or bird 
there was none ; my horse alone met my glance, quietly brows* 


116 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


ing on his trail-rope. I could not help envying him, as I scanned 
his well-filled sides. I thought of the bounty of the Creator in 
thus providing for his less intelligent creatures — ^giving them the 
power to live where man would starve. Who. does not in this 
recognize the hand of a Providence ? 

I walked forward to the edge of the barranca, and looked 
over. It was a grim abyss, over a hundred feet in depth, and 
about the same in width. Its sides were less precipitous at this 
point. The escarpment rocks had fallen in, and formed a sort 
of shelving bank, by which a man on foot might have descended 
into its bed, and climbed out on the opposite side ; but it was 
not passable for a horse. Its cliffs were furrowed and uneven ; 
rocks jutted out and hung over ; and in the seams grew cactus 
plants, bramble, and small trees of dwarf cedar ( Juniperus pros- 
trata.) 

I looked, into its channel. I had heard the. torrent rolling 
down in the night. I saw traces of the water among the. rocks. 
A large body must have-passed, and yet not a cupful could now 
have been .lifted from its bed ! What remained was fast filtering 
into the sand, or rising back to the- heavens upon the heated 
atmosphere. 

I had brought with me my rifle, in hopes of espying some liv- 
ing creature ; but, after walking for a considerable distance along 
the edge, I abandoned the search. No trace of bird or quadru- 
ped could be found, and I turned and went back to the place 
where I had slept. 

To draw the picket-pin of my horse and saddle him, was the 
work of a few minutes ; this done, I began to bethink me of 
where I was going. Back to the rancheria, of course ! That 
was the natural reply to such a question ; but there was another 
far less easily answered : How was I to find the way ? My-de- 
sign of the previous night— to follow back my own trail— was 
no longer practicable. The rain had effaced the tracks ! I-remem- 
bered that I had passed over wide stretches of light dusty soil, 


LOST UPON THE PRAIRIE. 


117 


where the hoof scarcely impressed itself. I remembered that the 
rain had been of that character known as “ planet showers,” with 
large, heavy drops, that, in such places, must have blotted out 
every^trace of the trail. To follow the “back-track” was no 
longer possible. I had not before thought of this difficulty ; and 
now’ that it-presentedjtself to my mind, it was accompanied by 
a new feeling of dread. I felt that I was lost ! 

As you. sit in your easy-chair, you may fancy that this is a 
mere..,bagatelle — a little bewilderment that one may easily escape 
from, who h&5 A good horse between his thighs. It is only to 
strike-boldly out and by riding on in a straight line, you must in 
time arri ve jomewhere. No doubt, that is your idea ; but permit 
me to inform you that this depends very much upon circum- 
stances. It would indeed be trusting to blind chance. You 
might arrive ‘Lsomewhere,” and that somewhere might be the 
very point from which you had started ! Do you fancy you 
can ride ten miles in a direct line over a prairie, without a single 
object to guide you ? Be undeceived, then ; you cannot! The 
best mounted men have perished under such circumstances. It 
may take days to escape out of a fifty-mile prairie, and days 
bring Aeath. Hunger and thirst soon gain strength and agony — 
the -sooner that you. know you have not the. wherewith to satisfy 
the one, nor quench the other. Besides, there is in your very 
loneliness a feeling of bewilderment, painful to an extreme 
degree, and from which only the oldest prairie-men are free. 
Your senses lose half their power, energy is diminished, and 
your resolves become weak and vacillating. You feel doubtful 
at each step as to whether you be following the right path, and 
are ready at every moment to turn into another. Believe me, 
it is a fearful thing to be alone and lost upon the prairies ! 

I felt this- keenly enough. I had* been on the great plains 
before, but it was the first time I had the misfortune to wander 
astray on them, and I was the more terrified that I had already 
hungered to no common degree. There was something singular 


lib 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


too, in the circumstances that had brought me into my present | 
situation. The ..disappearance of the white steed, although 
accounted, for by perfectly natural causes, had left upon my 
mind a . strange -impression. That he should have lured me 
so far, and then ^eluded me in such a way 1 I could not help 
fancying design in it ; and fancying so, I could attribute such 
design -only to a higher intelligence — in fact, to some superna- j 
tural cause ! I was again on the edge of superstition. My 
mind began to give way and yield itself to hideous fancies. 

I struggled against such thoughts, and succeeded in rousing 
myself to reflect upon some, active measures for my safety. I 
saw that it was of no use to remain where I was. I knew that 
I could make a straight path for a couple of hours at least — the 
sun was in the sky, and that would guide me — until near the 
meridian hours. Then I should have to halt, and wait a while ; 
for in that southern latitude, and just at that time of the year, 
the sun at noon is so near the zenith that a practised astronomer 
could not tell north from south. I reflected that before noon I 
might reach the timber, though that would not insure my safety. 
Even the naked plain is not more bewildering than the openings 
of the mezquite groves ancLthe chaparral that border it. Among 
these you may travel for days without getting twenty miles 
from your starting-point, and they are often as destitute of 
the means of life as the desert itself I 

Such were my reflections as I had saddled and bridled my 
horse, and stood scanning the plain in order to make up my 
mind as to the direction I should take. 


A PRAIRIE REPAST. 


119 


CHAPTER XXI. 

A PRAIRIE REPAST. 

In gazing out, my eye was attracted by some objects. They 
were animals, but of what species I could not tell. There are 
times upon the prairies when form and size present the most illu- 
sory aspects; a wolf seems as large as a horse; and a raven, 
sitting upon a swell of the plain, has been mistaken for a buffalo. 
A peculiar state of the atmosphere is the magnifying cause; and 
it is only the experienced eye of the trapper that can reduce the 
magnified proportions and distorted form to their proper size 
and shape. 

The objects I had noticed were full three miles off ; they were 
in the direction of the lake, and of course on the other side of 
the barranca. There were several forms— -.five I counted — mov- 
ing phantom-like against the rim of the horizon. Something 
drew my attention from them for a short while — a period of per- 
haps three or four minutes* duration. When I looked out again, 
they were no longer to be seen ; but by the edge of the pond, 
at_less than five hundred yards* distance, five beautiful creatures 
were standing, which I knew to be antelopes. They were so 
close to the pond, that their graceful forms were shadowed 
in the water, and their erect attitudes told that they had just 
halted after a run. Their number corresponded with the objects 
I had seen but the moment before far out upon the prairie. 
I was convinced they were the same. The distance was nothing: 
these creatures travel with the speed of a swallow. 

The sight of the prong-horns stimulated my hunger. My first 
thought was how to get near them. Curiosity had broughl 


120 


THE WAR-TltAIL. 


them to the pond ; they had espied my horse and myself afar 
off, and had galloped up to reconnoitre us. But they still 
appeared , shy aud timid, and were evidently not inclined to 
approach nearer. 

The barranca lay betweem them and me, but I saw that if I 
,yi5puld entice them to its brink, they would be within range if my 
rifle. 

Once more- staking down my horse, I tried every .plan I could 
think of. I laid myself along the grass upon my- back, and 
kicked my heels in the air, but to no purpose : the game would 
not move from the water’s edge. 

Remembering -that my serape was of very brillant colors, I 
bethought me of another/ plan which, when adroitly practised, 
rarely fails of .success. Taking the blanket, I lashed one. edge to 
the.ramrod of ray rifle, having.first passed the|atter through the 
upper swivel of the piece. With the. thumb of my left hand I 
was thus-enabled to Jiold the- rammer steady and transverse 
to the barrel. I now- dropped upon my knees, holding the gun 
shoulder-high, and the gay-colored serapd spread out. almost to 
itsdull extent, hung to the ground, and formed a complete cover 
for my person. Before making these, arrangements, I had crept 
to the very edge of the barranca, iu order to be as near as pos- 
sible should the autelopes approach upon the opposite side. Of 
course every mauceuvre was executed with all the -silence and 
caution I could -observe. I was in no reckless humor to frighten 
off the game. Hunger was my monitor. I knew that, not my 
b e ;kfast alone, but my life, might be depending on the successful 
issue of the experiment. 

It was not long before I had the gratification of perceiving 
that my decoy was likely to prove attractive. The-prong- 
horned antelope, like most animals of its kind, has one strongly 
developed propensity — that of curiosity. Although to a known 
enemy it-is the most timid of creatures, yet in the presence of 
an object that is new to it, it appears to throw aside its timidity. 


A PRAIRIE REPAST. 


121 


or rather its curiosity .overcomes its. sense of fear ; and, impelled 
by the former, it will approach vety near to any strange form, and 
regard it with an air of bewilderment. The prairie-wolf — a 
creature that surpasses even the fox in cunning — well knows 
this .weakness of the antelope, and often takes advantage of it. 
The wolf is less fleet than the antelope, and his pursuit of it in 
a direct manner would be vain ; but with the astute crea- 
ture, stratagem makes up for the absence of speed. Should 
a “ band” of. antelopes chance to be passing, the prairie-wolf lays 
himself flat upon the grass, clews his body into a round ball, and 
thus Tolls himself over the ground, or goes through a series of 
contortions, all the while approaching nearer to his victims, until 
he has them within springing distance ! Usually he is assisted 
in these manoeuvres by several companions, for the prairie-wolf 
is social, and hunts in packs. 

The. square of bright colors soon produced its effect. The 
five, prong-horns came—trotting around the edge of the lake, 
halted, gazed upon it a moment, and then dashed off again to a 
greater distance. Soon, however, they turned and came running 
back, this time apparently with greater confidence, and a stronger 
feeling of curiosity. I could hear them uttering their quick 
“ snorts ” as they tossed up their tiny heads and snuffed the air. 
Fortunately, the wind was in my favor, blowing directly from the 
game, afd towards me ; otherwise, they would have “winded” 
me, and. -discovered the cheat, for they both know and fear the 
scent of the human hunter. 

The band consisted of a young buck and four females— 
his wives ; the nucleus, no doubt, of a much larger establish 
ment in prospect — for the antelope is polygamous, and some of 
the older males have an extensive following. I knew the buck 
by his greater size and forking horns, which the does want. He 
appeared to direct the actions of the others, as they all stood 
in a line behind him, following and imitating his motions. 

At the second approach, they came within a hundred yards 

6 


122 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


of me. My rifle was equal to this range, and I prepared to fire. 
The leader was nearest me, and- him I selected as the- victim. 
Taking sight, I pulled-trigger. As soon as the smoke cleared 
off, I had the ^satisfaction of seeing the buck .-down upon the 
prairie, in the act of giving his last kick. To my surprise none 
of the others had been frightened off by the report, but stood 
gazing at their fallen leader, apparently bewildered. 

I bethought me of reloading ; but I had incautiously risen to 
my feet, and so revealed my form to the eyes of the antelopes. 
This produced an effect which neither the crack of the rifle nor 
the fall of their comrade had done ; and the now. terrified 
animals wheeled about aud^ sped away like the wind. In less 
than. .two minutes, they were^beyond this reach of vision. 

The next question that, arose was how I was to get across 
the barranca. The tempting ...morsel lay upon the other side, 
and I therefore set abouWexamining the chasm in. order to 
find a practicable crossing. This I fortunately discovered. On 
both sides, the cliff was somewhat broken , down, and might be 
scaled, though not without considerable difficulty. 

After once more looking to the security of my horse’s trail- 
rope, I placed my rifle- where I had .slept, and set out to cross 
the barranca, taking only my knife. I could have no use for the 
gun, and it would hinder me in scaling the cliffs. I got to the 
bottom of the ravine, and commenced ascending on the opposite 
side where it was steeper ; but I was assisted by the branches 
of the trailing cedar that grew among the rocks. I noticed, 
and with some surprise, that the path must have been used 
before, either by men or animals. 

The soil that lay upon the ledges was “ paddled ” as by feet, 
and the rock in some places scratched and discolored. These 
indications only caused me a momentary reflection. I was too 
hungry to dwell upon any thought but that of eating. 

At length I reached the scarp of the cliff, and climbing out 
upon the prairie, soon stood over the carcass of the prong-boro, 


123 


CHASED BY A “ GRIZZLY.” 

My Wfe was out, aud next moment I was busy .playing the part 
of butcher. 

You will no doubt fancy that the next thing I did was to go 
in search of something to make a fire for the purpose of cook- 
ing. I did nothing of the sort ; the next thing I did was to 
eat ray breakfast. L ate it raw ; and had you been in my 
situation, delicate as you are, you would have done the same. 

It is true that, after I had satisfied the first cravings of appe- 
tite with the tongue of the antelope and a few morsels of steak, 
I became more fastidious, and thought a little roasting might 
improve the ..venison. For this purpose, I was about to return 
to the barranca, in order to gather some sticks of the cedar-wood, 
when my eyes fell upon an object that drove all thoughts of 
cobkery out of my head, and sent a thrill of terror to my heart. 
The -object in question was a large- animal, which I at Once 
recognized as th o~grizzly hear , the most dreaded of all creatures 
that inhabit the prairie. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

CHASED BY A “GRIZZLY.” 

The bear was one of the largest of his kind ; but it wa» not 
his size that impressed me with fear, so much as the knowledge 
of his fierce nature. It was not the first time I had encountered 
the grizzly bear ; and I knew his habits well. I was rather sur- 
prised at seeing one in that region. The range of this species is 
more^tp the west — among the defiles of the Rocky Mountains — • 
but- individuals occasionally wander as far east as the meridian 
of the. Mississippi. The one before me was of a yellowish-red 
?plor, with legs and feet nearly black ; but color is no character- 


124 : 


THE WAR- TRAIL. 


fstic. among these .animals-i-scarceAwo of them being alike in 
this respect. I wag. familiar with the form and aspect, and could 
not be mistaken ; I recognized the long shaggy pelage, the 
straight. ..front, and broad facial disk, which distinguish this 
species from th v-Ursus Americanus. The yellow eyes, the huge 
teeth, but. half-concealed by the lips, the long-curving claws — the 
most prominentmarks of the,. Ursus feroz, as they are his most 
formidable means of attack — were all-remembered. 

When my eyes first rested upon this monster, he was. just 
emerging out of the barranca at the very spot where I -had 
climbed up myself ! It was his tracks, then, I had observed, 
while scaling the cliff ! 

On reaching the level of the prairie, he advanced a paOe or 
two, and then baiting, reared himself up and stood upon his hind 
legs ; at the same time, he uttered a snorting, sound, which re- 
sembled the “blowing” of hogs when suddenly-startled in the 
forest. For some moments he remained in this upright attitude, 
rubbing his head with his fore paws, and playing them about 
after the manner of monkeys. In fact, as he stood fronting me, 
he looked not unlike a gigantic ape 1 

When I say that I was terrified by the presence of this unwel- 
come intruder, I speak no more than truth. Had I- been on 
horseback — on the back of. Moro — I should have ..regarded the 
creature no more than the snail that crawled upon the grass 
The grizzly bear is too slow to overtake a horse ; but I was 
afoot , and well knew that the animal could -outrun me, however 
swift I deemed myself. 

To suppose that he would not attack me would have- been to 
suppose am-i'tnprobability. I did not count upon such a thing ; 
1 knew too well the. disposition of the enemy that, approached. 
I knew that in nine cases out of ten the grizzly bear is tho^assail* 
ant-^-that no, animal in America will willingly risk a coutest with 
him ; and it is not certain that the lion of Africa would wear his 
\aurels after an encounter with this fierce quadruped. 


125 


Man himself ✓ shuns such an encounter, unless mounted upon 
the friendly horse ; and even then, where the ground is not clear 
and open, the prudent trapper always gives “ old Ephraim ” — 
the prairie sobriquet of the grizzly — a wide berth, and rides on 
without- molesting him. The white hunter reckons a grizzly 
bear equal in. prowess to- two Indians ; while tl)e Indian accounts 
the destruction of one of these animals a great feat in his life’s 
lustory. Among Indian braves, a necklace of bear’s claws is a 
badge of honor — since these adornments can only be^worn by 
the man who has himself killed the animals from which they have 
been taken. 

On the other hand, the grizzly bear fears no adversary ; he 
assails the largest animals on sight. The elk, the moose, the 
bison, or wild horse, if caught, is instantly killed. With a blow 
of his paw, he can lay open the flesh, as if it had been gashed 
with an axe ; and he can drag the body of a full-grown buffalo 
to any distance. He rushes upon • man, whether mounted or 
afoot ; and, ere now, a dozen hunters have retreated before his 
furious assault. A dozen bullets — ay, nearly twice that number 
— have been fired into the body of a grizzly bear without killing 
him ; and only a shot through the brain or the heart will prove 
instantaneously mortal. Gifted with such tenacity of life and 
sanguinary fierceness of disposition, no wonder the grizzly bear 
is a dreaded- creature. Were he possessed of the fleetness of the 
lion or tiger, he would be a more terrible assailant than either ; 
and it is not too much to say that his haunts would be unap- 
proachable by man. He is slow, however, compared with the 
^iprse • and there is another..circumstance scarcely less favorable 
to those who pass through his district^r-he is not a tree-climber. 
Indeed, he does nol affect the- forest ; but there is usually some 
timber in the neighborhood of his haunts ; and many a life has 
been saved by his intended victim having taken refuge in a tree. 

Well acquainted with these points in the natural history of the 
grizzly bear, and you may fancy the feelings I .experienced af 


126 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


finding myself in the presence of one of the largest and fiercest, 
upon the naked plain- alone, - dismounted, almost unarmed 1 
There was not a- bush where I could hide myself, not a tree into 
which I might climb. There was no means of escape, and almost 
none of defence ; thedsnife was the only weapon I had with me ; 
my rifle I had left upon the other side of the barranca, and to 
reach it was out of the question. Even could I have got to the 
path that led down the cliff, it would have been madness to 
attempt crossing there ; although not a tree-climber, the grizzly 
bear, by means of his great claws, could have scaled the clifF 
more expeditiously than I. Lshould have been caught before I 
could have reached the bottom of the ravine. 

The bear was directly in the path. It would have been lite 
rally running “ into his arms” to have gone that way ! 

These- reflections occupy minutes of your time to read; 1 
thought them in less than moments. A single glance around 
showed me the utter, helplessness of my situation ; I saw there 
was no alternative but a desperate conflict — a conflict with the 
knife ! 

Despair that for a moment had unnerved, now had the effect 
of bracing me ; and, fronting my fierce foe, I stood ready to re- 
ceive him. 

I had heard of hunters having conquered and killed the grizzly 
bear with no other weapon than a knife, but after a terrible and 
protracted struggle — after many wounds and sore loss of blood. 
I had read in the book of a naturalist, that “a man might end 
a struggle with a bear in a few moments, if one hand be suffi- 
ciently at liberty to grasp the throat of the animal with the 
thumb and fingers externally, just at the root of the tongue , as a 
slight degree of compression there will generally suffice to pro- 
duce a spasm of the glottis that will soon suffocate the bear 
beyond the power of offering resistance or doing injury 1” 

Beautiful theory 1 Sagacious naturalist ! How would you 
like to try the experiment ? Have you ever heard of birds being 


127 


CHASED BY A “ GRIZZLY.” 

caught by the application of “salt to the tail?” The theory is 
as correct as yours, and I am certain the practice of it would be 
not more difficult ! 

But I digress among these after- thoughts. I had no time to 
reflect upon ;i compressions of the tongue ” or “ spasms of the 
glottis.” My antagonist soon finished his reconnaissance of me 
aud, dropping upon all-fours, he uttered a loud roar, and rushed 
towards me with open mouth. 

I had resolved to await his attack ; but as he came nearer, 
and I beheld his great gaunt form, his gleaming teeth, and his 
senna-colored eyes flashing like fire, I changed my design ; a new 
thought came suddenly, across my mind ; I turned and fled. 

Tha^thought that prompted me to adopt this course was, that 
tha,bear might be attracted by tha carcass of the antelope, and 
pause*over it — perhaps long enough to give me a start, or enable 
me to escape altogether. If not, my situation could be no worse 
than it then was. 

Alas ! my hope was short-lived. On reaching the antelope, 
the fierce monster made no halt. I glanced back ; he was already 
pastdt, and closing rapidly upon my heels ! 

I am a swift runner-— one of the swiftest. Many a school-day 
triumph can I remember ; but what was my speed against such 
u competitor 1 I was only running myself out of breath. I 
should be less prepared for the desperate conflict that must soon 
come off ; better to turn, and at once face the foe ! 

I had half-resolved myself— half-turned, in fact — when an ob- 
ject flashed before my eyes that dazzled them. Inadvertently, I 
had run in the direction of the pond ; I was now upon its shore 
It was the sun gleaming from the water that dazzled me. The 
surface was calm as a mirror. 

A rew idea — a sort of half-hope — rushed instantaneously into 
mv mind. It was the straw to the drowning man. The fierce 
brute was close behind me ; another instart, and we must have 
grappled. 


128 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


“Not yet, not yet/ thought I, “ I shall fight him in the wate 
— in the deep water. That may give me an advantage Per 
haps, there, the contest would be more equal ; perhaps I may 
escape by diving !” 

I sprang into the pond without a moment of hesitation. The 
water was knee-deep. I plunged onward, making for the cen- 
tre ; the spray rose around me; the pond deepened as^l 
advanced ; I was soon up to the waist. 

I glanced around with anxious heart ; the bear was standing 
upon the edge. To my surprise and joy, I saw that he had 
halted, and seemed disinclined to follow me ? 

I say, to my .surprise I saw this, for I knew that water has no 
terrors for the grizzly bear ; I knew that he could swim ; I had 
seen many of his kind crossing deep lakes and rapid rivers. 
What, then, hindered him from following me ? 

I could not guess, nor, indeed, did I try to guess, at the 
moment ; I thought of nothing but getting farther from the 
shore ; and waded on till I had arrived near the centre of the 
lake, and stood neck deep in the water. I could go no farther 
without swimming, and therefore came to a stand, with my face 
turned towards my pursuer. 

I watched his every movement. He. had risen once more upon 
his hind-quarters, and stood looking after me, but still apparently 
without any intention of taking to the water ! 

After regarding me for some time, he fell back upon all fours, 
and commenced running around the border of the pond, as if 
searching for a place to enter. 

There were not over two hundred paces between us, for the 
pond was onljKtwice that in* diameter. He could soon have 
reached me, had he felt so disposed ; but for some reason or 
other, he seemed-disinclined to a “ swim.” 

For a full half hour he kept running back and forth along the 
shore. Besides the apprehension in which his presence held me, 
my situation was far from comfortable. Although there was a 


129 


CHASED BY A “ GRIZZLY.” 

warm sun overhead, the water was as cold as ice, and 
m y teeth began to chatter like castanets. I knew not how long 
the scene was to last. I well knew the vengeful disposition of 
the grizzly bear, and the untiring pertinacity with which he fol- 
lows any one who may have roused his resentment. Fortunately, 
I had neither wounded nor molested him, and I was in hopes 
that my innocence in this respect might save me from a very 
protracted siege. I had no other hope of being rescued from 
my perilous situation. 

He appeared to have made up his mind to wait until I should 
come out ; though once or twice I thought he was about to 
swim towards me ; for he halted upon the very edge, craned his 
head over the water, oscillating the fore part of his body, as if 
about to plunge in. After manoeuvring in this way for some 
time, he turned away, and continued to pace along the bank 
What he thought of our relative situations, I cannot guess. A 
third party, who might have been spectator, would have regarded 
the tableau as*- comic in the extreme. Up to my^neck in the 
middle of the pond, with only my. head, appearing above the 
water, I must have presented a ludicrous spectacle ; and now 
that I think of it, I cannot help smiling at the figure I must 
have exhibited at that moment. I did not laugh at it then; 
I was too badly frightened for that. There was no laughter in 
me. 

For a long while — nearly an hour, I should judge — the bear 
remained by the edge of the pond. Now and again, . he made 
short. excursions out into the.prairie ; but soon returned again, 
and regarded me afresh, as though, determined not to. lose sight 
of me for any length of* time. I was in *hopes that he, might 
stray -round to the other side of the pond, and give me the 
chance of making a rush for the raviue ; but no ; he. continued 
on that side where he had first appeared, as though he sus' 
pected my, design. 

T began to despair. I shivered. The pond must have been a 


130 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


Jl >ring, so .chill were its waters. Lshivered, but kept ray place ; 
I dared not-move out of it. I even,. feared to agitate the water 
around me, lest by sodoing I might^excite my fierce-enemy, and 
tempt him to the onset. I shivered but stood, still. 

My patience was at length rewarded. The bear, making one 
of his short tours into the prairie, espied the.carcass of the ante- 
lope. I saw that he had.halted over something, though I could 
not tell what, for my eyes were., below the level of the plain ; 
presently, his head was raised again, and in his jaws were the 
remains of the prong-horn. To my joy, I now perceived that he 
was draggiug it towards the barranca ; and in- another minute 
he had disappeared with it below the escarpment of the cliff. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE TOUGHEST STRUG* GLE OF MY LIFE. 

I swam a few strokes, and then wading gently and without 
Vise, I . climbed out upon the , sandy shore. With, shivering 
irnme and dripping garments, I stood,* uncertain what course to 
Pijsue. I was upon the opposite side of the lake — I mean 
opposite to where I had entered it. I had chosen that side 
from -precaution — lest the. bear should suddenly return. He 
m ; ght deposit the uarcass in his. lair, and come back to look after 
me. It is a habit of these animals, when not pressed by imme- 
diatediunger, to bury their food or store it in their caves. Even 
the eating of the antelope would have been an affair of only a 
few-minutes’ time. The bear might still-return, more fierce that 
he had tasted blood ! 

I wj| lilted with : irresolution. Should I fly off to the plain 
beyond odie reach of pursuit! I should have to return again for 


THE TOUGHEST STRUGGLE OF MY LIFE. 131 

i f horse and rifle. To take to the prairie afoot would be like 
p-oing to sea without a boat ; but, even had I been sure of 
reaching the ..settlements in safety without my horse, I could not 
thiuk of such a thing. I loved my Moro too well to leave him 
behind me : I would have risked life itself rather than part with 
that noble creature. No j the idea of deserting him was not 
entertained for a moment. 

But how was I to join him ? The only path by which I 
could cross the barranca, had just been taken by the bear. He 
was no . doubt still upon it, in the bottom of the ravine. To 
attempt passing over, would be to .bring myself once more under 
the^eyes of the fierce brute ; and I should certainly become his 
victim. 

Another idea suggested itself— to go up the barranca, and find 
another crossing, or else head it altogether, and come down upon 
the opposite side. That was clearly the best plan. 

I was about-starting forward to execute it, when, to my dis- 
may, I again beheld the bear ; this time, not upon the same side 
with myself, but upon the opposite one, where Moro was pick- 
eted ! He was slowly,.elimbing out of the. ravine, and when I 
first saw him, was dragging his -huge body over the escarpment 
of the cliff. In a moment, he stood erect upon the open plain. 

I was filled with a new,.consternation ; I saw too surely that 
he was about to attack my horse I 

The latter had already observed the bear’s approach, and 
seemed to be fully aware of his danger. I had staked him at 
the distance of aboutiour hundred yards from the barranca, and 
upon a lazo of about^twenty in length. At sight of the bear, 
he had run out to the end of his trail-rope, and was snorting and 
plunging with affright. 

This new^ dilemma arrested my steps and I stood with anxious 
feelings to watch the result. I had no hope of being able tc 
yield the slightest, .aid to my poor horse — at least none occurred 
to me- at the moment. 


132 


THE WAR-TEA IL. 


The bear made directly towards him, and my heart throbbed 
wildly as I beheld the fierce monster almost within clawing dis- 
tance. The horse sprang round, however, and galloped upon 
a circle of which the lazo was the radius. I knew, from the 
hard jerks he had already given to the rope, that there was 
no chance of its yielding and setting him free. No ; it was a 
raw-hide lazo of the toughest thong. I knew its power, and I 
remembered how firmly I had driven home the picket-pin. This 
I had now cause to regret. What would not I have given to 
have drawn the blade of my knife across that rope ! 

I continued to watch the struggle with a painful feeling 
of suspense. The horse still kept out of reach by galloping 
around the circumference of the circle, while the bear made 
his attacks by crossing its chords or running in circles of les- 
ser diameter. The whole scene bore a resemblance to an act at 
the Hippodrome, Moro being the steed, and the bear taking the 
part of the -ring-master 1 

Once or twice, the ropacircling round, and quite taut, caugnt 
upon the legs of the bear, aud after. carrying him along with it 
for some distance, flung him over upou his back. This seemed 
to add to his rage, and after rising each time, he ran after 
the horse with redoubled fury. I might have been amused at 
the singular spectacle, but my mind was too painfully agitated 
about the result. 

The scene continued for some minutes without much change in 
the relative position of the. actors. I began to hope that the 
bear might be baffled after all, and finding the horse too nimble 
for him, would give over his attempts, particularly as I had 
noticed the latter administer several kicks that might have dis- 
comfited any other assailant ; but these only rendered the bear 
more savage and vengeful. 

Just at this moment the scene assumed a new phase, likely to 
bring about the denoument. The rope had once moro pressed 
against the bear j but this time, instead of trying to avoid it/ in* 


THE TOUGHEST STRUGGLE OF MY LIFE. 


133 


seized it in his teeth and paws. I thought at first he was going 
to cut it, and this was exactly what I wished for ; but no— to 
my consternation I saw that he was crawling along it by con- 
stantly renewing his hold, and thus gradually and surely drawing 
nearer to his victim 1 The horse now screamed with terror ! 

I could bear the sight no longer. I remembered that I had 
left my rifle near the edge of the barranca, and some distance 
from the horse ; I remembered, too, that after shooting the ante- 
lope, I had carefully reloaded it. I ran forward to the cliff, and 
dashed madly down its face ; I climbed the opposite steep, and 
clutching the gun, rushed towards the scene of strife. 

I was still in time ; the bear had not yet reached his victim, 
though now within less than six feet of him. 

I advanced within ten paces, and fired. As though my shot 
had cut the thong, it gave, way at the moment ; and the horse 
with a wild neigh sprang off into the prairie I 

I had hit the bear, as afterwards ascertained, but not in a 
vital part, and my. bullet had no more effect upon him than if it 
had been a drop of snipe-shot. It was the strength of despair 
that had broken the rope, and set free the steed. 

It was my turn now ; for the bear, as soon as he perceived 
that the horse had escaped him, rushed forward upon me, utter- 
ing as he did so a loud cry. I had no -choice but-- fight. 1 had 
no time to reload. I struck the brute once with my clubbed 
rifle, and flinging the gun away, grasped the readier kuife. With 
the strong keen blade — the knife was a bowie — I struck out 
before me ; but the next moment I felt myself grappled and held 
fast. The sharp claws tore up my flesh ; one paw was griped 
over my hips, another rested on my shoulder, while the white 
teeth gleamed before my eyes. My knife-arm was free — I had 
watched- this when grappling — and with all the energy of despair, 
I plunged the keen blade between the ribs of my antagonist. I 
nought for the h art at every stab. 

We rolled together ta the ground, over and over again. The 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


134 : 

red blood covered us both. I saw it welling from the lips of the 
fierce monster, and I joyed to, think that my knife reached his 
vitals. 1 was .wild — I was mad — I was burning with a fierce 
vengeance — with anger, such as one might feel for a t human foe l 

Over and over the ground in the fierce struggle of life and 
death. Again I felt the terrible, claws, the tearing teeth ; again 
went my blade up to the hilt. 

0 God 1 how many lives has he ? Will he never yield to the 
red steel ? See the blood !— rivers of blood — the prairie is red 
— we roll in blood. I am sick at the sight — sick — I faint. O 
Heavenly Father ! * * * * 


CHAPTER X X I Y. 

OLD COMRADES. 

I fancied myself in a future world, battling with some fearful 
demon. No ; those forms I see around me are of the earth. I 
still live ! • 

My wounds pain me. Some one is binding them up. His hand 
is rude ; but the tender expression of his eyes tells me that his 
heart is kind. Who is he ? Whence came he ? 

I am still upon the wide prairie ; I see that clear enough. 
Where is my terrible antagonist? I remember our fierce fight, 
everything that occurred ; but — 1 thought he had killed me ! 

I certaiuly was dead. But no ; it cannot have been. I still 
live 1 

I see above me the blue sky, around me the green plain. 
Near me are forms — the forms of men, and yonder are horses I 





I was wild I was mad I was burning with a fierce vengeance — with anger, such as 
one might feel for a human foe ! Over and over the ground in the fierce struggle of life 
and death. Again I felt the terrible claws, the tearing teeth; again went my blade up 
to the hilt. — P age 134 









' » 

- 


OLD COMRADES. 


135 


Into whose hands have J- fallen ? Whoever they.be, they are 
friends ; they must have rescued me from the gripe of the mou 
eter. But how ? No one was in sight : how could they have 
arrived in time ? I would ask, but have not strength to speak 
to them I 

The men are stilt bending over me. I observe one with large 
beard, and brown bushy whiskers. There is another face, old 
and thin, and tanned to a copper color. My eyes wander from 
one to the other; some distant recollections stir within me. Those 

faces . Now I see them but dimly — I see them no 

longer — — * * * * 

I had fainted, and was again insensible. 

Once more I became conscious, and this time felt stronger. I 
could better understand what was passing around me. I observed 
that the sun was going down ; but a buffalo robe, suspended 
upon two upright saplings, guarded his rays from the spot where 
I lay. My serape was under me, and my head rested in my sad- 
dle, over which another robe had been laid. I lay upon my side, 
and the position gave me a commanding view of all that was 
passing. A fire was burning near, by which were two persons, 
one seated, the other standing ; my eyes passed from one to the 
other, scanning each in turn. 

The younger stood leaning on his rifle, looking into the fire. 
“ He was the type of a ‘mountain man* — a trapper. He was 
full six feet in his mocassins, and of a build that suggested the 
idea of strength and Saxon ancestry. His arms were like young 
oaks ; and his hand grasping the muzzle of his gun appeared 
large, fleshless, and muscular. His cheek was broad and firm, 
and was partially covered with a bushy whisker, that met over 
the chin ; while a beard of the same color — dull brown— fringed 
the lips. The eya-was-grey, or -bluish. gray, small, well set, and 
rarely- wandering. The hair was light-brown ; and the complex- 
ion of the face, which had evidently once been blonde, was now 
nearly as dark as that of a half-breed. Sun-tan had product! 


136 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


this, metamorphosis. The countenance was prepossessing : it 
might have been once ^handsome. Its expression was-bold, but 
good-humored, and bespoke a kind and generous nature.” 

The dress of this individual was the well-known costume of his 
class — a hunting-shirt of dressed deerskin, smoked to the soft- 
ness of a glove ; leggings reaching to the hips, and fringed down 
the seams 7 mocassins of true Iudian make, soled with buffalo 
hide (parjleche.) The hunting-shirt was belted around the waist, 
but open above, so as to leave the throat and part of the breast 
uncovered ; but over the breast could be seen the under-shirt, of 
finer material — the dressed skin of the young antelope, or the 
fawn of the fallow deer. A short cape, part of the hunting-shirt, 
hung, gracefully over the shoulders; ending in a deep fringe cut 
out of the buckskin itself. A similar fringe embellished the 
draping of the skirt. On the head was a raccoon <iap- — the face 
of the^nimal over theiront, while the barred tail, like a plume, 
fell drooping over the left shoulder. 

The accoutrements were a bullet-pouch, made from the uu* 
dressed skin of a tiger-cat, ornamented with the head of the 
beautiful summer-duck. This hung under the right arm, sus- 
pended by a shoulder-strap ; and attached in a similar manner 
was a huge crescent-shaped horn, upon which was carved many 
a strange -souvenir. His arms consisted of a knife and pistol — 
both stuck in the waist-belt — and a long rifle, so straight that 
the line of the barrel seemed scarcely to deflect from that of the 
butt. 

But little attention had been paid to ornament in either his 
dress, arms, or equipments ; and yet there was a gracefulness in 
the hang of his tunic-like shirt, a stylishness about the fringing 
and bead-embroidery, and an air of jauntiness in the set of the 
’coon-skin cap, that showed the wearer was not altogether un- 
mindful of his- personal appearance. A small pouch or case, 
ornamented with stained porcupine quills, hung down upon his 
breast. This was the pipe-holder^-no doubt a sr^ige d' amour from 


OLD COMRADES. 


33 ? 


some dark-eyed, dark-skinned damsel, like himself a denizen of 
the wilderness. 

lliiLeompanion was very different in appearance ; unlike him 
— in almost every respect unlike anybody I had ever seen, 
excepting himself. 

The whole appearance of the individual was odd and striking. 
He was seated on the opposite side of the fire, with his face 
partially turned towards me, and his head sunk down between a 
pair of long lank thighs. He looked more like the stump of a 
tree dressed in dirt-colored buckskin than a. human being ; and 
nad his arms not been in motion, he might have been mistaken 
for such an object. Both his arms and jaws were moving ; the 
latter engaged in polishing a rib of meat which he had half 
roasted over the coals. 

His dress — if dress it could be called — was simple as it was 
savage. It consisted of what might have once been a hunting- 
shirt, but which now looked more like a leathern bag with the 
bottom ripped open, and sleeves sewed into the sides. It was of 
a dirty brown color, wrinkled at the hollow of the arms, patched 
around the armpits, and greasy all over ; it was fairly “ caked” 
with dirt ! There was no attempt at either ornament or fringe. 
There had been a cape, but this had evidently been drawn upon 
from time to time, for patches and other uses, until scarce a ves- 
tige of it remained. The. leggings and moccasins were on a par 
with the shirt, and seemed to have been manufactured out of the 
same hide. They, too, were dirt-brown, patched, wrinkled, and 
greasy. They did not meet each other, but left a piece of ankle 
bare, and that also was dirt-brown, like the buckskin. There 
was no undershirt, vest, or other garment to be seen, with the 
exception of a cl(JS6-fittiug cap, which had once been catsiiin j 
but the hair was all worn off it, leaving a greasy, leathery-look- 
ing surface, that corresponded well with the other parts of the 
-jress. Cap, shirt, leggings, and moccasins, looked as if they 
&ad never been stripped off since the day they ^ere first tried 


33 


THE WAR-TKA.1L. 


on, and that might have been many a year ago ! The shirt was 
open, displaying the naked breast and. throat, and these, as well 
as the face, hands, and ankles, had been tanned by the sun and 
smoked by the fire to the hue of ; rusty copper. The whole man, 
clothes and all, looked as if he had been-smoked on purpose ! 

His face bespoke a man of sixty, or thereabouts ; his features 
were, sharp, and somewhat aquiline ; and the small eyes were 
dark, quick, and. piercing. His hair was , black, and cut short ; 
his complexion had been naturally brunette, though there was 
nothing of the Frenchman or Spaniard in his physiognomy. He 
was more likely of the black-Saxon breed. 

As I looked at this man, I saw that there was a strangeness 
about him independent of the oddness of his attire. There was 
something peculiar about his head— something wanting. 

What was it that was wanting ? It was his ears ! 

There is something awful in a man without his ears. It sug- 
gests some horrid drama — some terrible scene of cruel vengeance: 
it suggests the idea of crime committed and punishment 
inflicted.” 

I might have had such painful imaginings, but that I chanced 
to know why those ears were wanting. I remembered the man 
who was sitting before me ? 

It seemed a dream, or rather the re-enactment of an old scene. 
Tears before, I had seen that individual, and in a situation very 
similar. My eyes first rested upon him, seated as he was now, 
over a fire, roasting and eating. The attitude was the same; 
the tout ensemble in no respect different. There was the same 
greasy catskin cap, the same scant leggings, the same brown 
buckskin covering over the lanky frame. Perhaps neither shirt 
nor leggings had been taken off since I last saw them. They 
appeared no dirtier, however ; that was not possible. Nor wa* 
it possible, having once looked upon the wearer, ever to forget 
him. I remembered him at a glance — Reuben Raiding , or “ old 
Rube,” as he was better known, one of the most celebrated of 


A QUEER CONVERSATION. 


139 


trappers. The younger man was “ Bill Garey,” another ‘ moun- 
tain man ,” and old Rube’s partner and constant companion. 

My heart gladdened at the sight of these old acquaintances. 
I now knew I was with friends. 

I was about to call out to them, when my eye wandering 
beyond rested upon the group of horses, and what I saw startled 
me from my recumbent position. There was Rube’s old, blind, 
bare-ribbed, high-boned, long-eared mare-mustang. Her lank 
grizzled body, naked tail, and mulish look, I remembered well. 
There, too, was the large powerful horse of Garey, and my own 
steed Moro picketed beside them 1 This was a joyful surprise 
to me, as he had galloped off after his escape from the bear, and 
I had felt anxious about recovering him. But it was not 
the sight of Moro that caused me to start with astonishment ; 
it was at the presence of another well-remembered animal — 
another horse. Was I mistaken? Was it an illusion? Were 
my eyes or my fancy again mocking me ? No 1 It was a reality. 
There was the noble form, the graceful and symmetrical outlines, 
the smooth coat of silver white, the flowing tail, the upright 
jetty ears — all were before my eyes. It was he — the white steed 
of the 'prairies f 


CHAPTER XXY. 

A QUEER CONVERSATION. 

The surprise, with the exertion I had made in raising myseif, 
overcame me, and I fell back in a swoon It was but a momen- 
tary dizziness, and in a short while I was again conscious. 
Meanwhile, the two men had approached, and having applied 
something cold to my temples, stood near me conversing ! I 
heard every word. 


140 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


“Darn the weemen I” (I recognized Rube’s voice); K thuf 
allers a gittin a fellur into some scrape. Hyur’s a putty pickle 
to be in, an all through a gurl. Durn the weemen 1 sez I.” 

“We-ell,” drawlingly responded Garey, “ pre-haps he loves 
the gal. They sez she’s mighty hansum. Love’s a strong 
feelin, Rube.” 

Although I had my eyes partially open, I could not see Rube, 
as he was standing behind the suspended robe ; but a.gurgling, 
clucking sound — somewhat like that made in pouring water 
from a bottle— reached my ears, and told me what effect Garey’s 
remark had .produced upon his companion. 

“ Cuss me, Rill 1” the- latter at length rejoined — “ cuss me ! 
ef yur ain’t as durned a fool as the young fellur hisself ! Love’s 
a stFong feelin I He, he, he — ho, ho, hoo ! Wal, I guess it 
must a. be to make sich dodrotted fools o’ razeonable men. As 
yit, it ain’t fooled this child, I reck’n.” 

“ You never knewd what love wur, old hoss ?” - 

“ Thurr yur off o’ the trail, Bill-ee. I did oncest — yis ; oncest 
I wur imlove, plum to the toe-nails. But thet wur a gurl to git 
sweet on. Ye-es,-~thet she wur, an no mistake !” 

This speech ended in a sigh that sounded like the blowing of 
a buffalo. 

“ Who wur the gal ?” inquired Garey, after a pause. “ White 
or Injun ?” 

“ Injun !” exclaimed Rube, in a contemptuous tone : “ no : 1 
reck’n not,, boyee. I don’t say thet, for a wife, an Injun ain’t 
jest as good as a white, an more convayuient she are to git shet 
of-when yur tired o’ her. I’ve hed a good grist of squaws in my 
time— hef-a-dozen maybe, and maybe more. This I kin say, an 
no boastin neyther, thet I never sold a squaw yet for a plug o’ 
bacca, less than I gin for, her ; an on most o’ ’em I made a clur 
profit. Thurfur, Billee, I don’t object to an Injun for a wife : 
but wives is one thing, an sweethearts is diff’rent when it comes 
to thet. Now, the gurl I’m a talkin ’bout wur t my sweetheart.” 


A QUEER CONVERSATION. 


141 


“ She wur a white gal, then ?” 

“Are allyblaster white? She wur white as the bleached 
skull of a,buffler ; an sech. har ! ’Twur as red as the brush o’ a 
kitfox. Eyes too I Ah, Billee, boy, them wur eyes to squint 
out o’ ! They wur as big as a buck’s, an as soft as smoked fawn- 
skin. I never seed a pair o’ eyes like hern’ 1” 

“ What wur her name.?” 

“ Her name wur Charf|y, an as near as I kin remember ’twur 
Holmes— Charity Holmes.^ Ye-es, thet wur the name. ’Twur 
upon Big-duck crick in the'Tennessee bottom, the place whur 
this child chawed his fust hoe-cake. Let me. see — it ur now 
more ’n thirty yeer ago. I fust met the gurl at a candy-pullin i 
an I-recollex well we wur put to eat taffy agin one another. We 
ate till our lips met ; an then the, kissin-r- thet wur kissin, boyee. 
Char’ty’s lips wur sweeter than the candy ! We met oncest agin 
at a corn-shuckin, an arterwards at a blanket-trampin, an thur’s 
whur theiiisness wur done. I seed Char’ty’s-ankles as she wur 
a-trampin out the blankets, as white an smooth as peeled poplar. 
Arter thet turn, all up wi’ Reuben Rawlings. Lapproached the 
gurl ’ithout more ado ; an sez I : ‘ Char’ty,’ sez I, ‘ I freeze 
to you an sez she : ‘ Reuben, I cottons to you.’ So I irnmee- 
diantly made up to the ole squire — thet ur Squire Holmes — an 
axed him for his darter. Durn the ole.skunk I he refused to ^in 
her to me ! 

“Jest then, thur cum a pedlar from Kinneticut, all kivered wi’ 
fine broadcloth. He made love to Char’ty ; an wud yur believe 
it, Bill? the gurl married him! Cuss the weemen 1 thur all 
alike. 

“ I met the pedlar shortly arter, an gin him sech a larrupin as 
laid him up for a month ; but I had to clur out for it, an I then 
tuk to the plains. I never seed Char’ty arterward, but I heerd 
o’ her oncest from a feilur I kim across on the Massoury. She 
wur a splendid critter ; an if she, ur. still livin, she must hev a 
good grist o’ young uns by this, for the feilur said she’ hed twins 


TEE WAR- TRAIL. 


142 

shortly arter sue wur married, with har an eyes jest like herself . 
Wal, thur’s no kalkalatin on weemen, anyhow. Jest see-what 
this young fellur’s got by- tryin to sarve ’em. Wagh 1” 

Up to this moment I took no part in the conversation, nor 
had I indicated to either of the trappers that I was aware of 
their presence. Everything was enveloped in mystery. The 
presence of the.white steed had sufficiently astonished me, and 
not less that of my old acquaintances, Rube and Garey. The 
whole scene was a puzzle ; I was now equally at a loss to ac- 
count for their being acquainted with the cause that had brought 
vie there. That they were^so, was evident from their- conversa- 
tion. Where could they have procured their information on this 
head? Neither of them had been at the rancheria, nor in the 
army anywhere ; certainly not, else I should have heard of them. 
Indeed, either of them would have made himself known to me, as 
a strong friendship had formerly existed between us. 

But they alone could give me an explanation, and, without 
further conjecture, I turned to them. 

“ Rube I Garey 1” I said, holding out my hands. 

“ Hilloo 1 yur a-comin too, young fellur. Thet’s right ; but 
thur now — lay still a bit — don’t worrit yurself ; y’ul be stronger 
by ’in by.” 

“ Take a sup o’ this,” said the other, with an air of rude kind- 
ness, at the same time holding out a small gourd, which I applied 
to my lips. It was aguardiente of El Paso, better known among 
the mountain-men as “Pass-whisky.” The immediate effect of 
this strong, but not bad spirit, was to strengthen my nerves, and 
render me abler to converse. 

“I see you recollects us, capt’n,” said Garey, apparently 
pleased at the recognition. 

“Well, old comrades— well do I remember you.” 

“ We ain’t forgot you neyther. Rube an I often talked about 
ye. We many a time wondered what hed becomed o’ you. We 
keerd, of coorse, that you hed gone back to the settlements, an 


A QUEER CONVERSATION. 


143 


that you hed come into gobs o’ property, an bed to change your 
name to git it ” 

“ Burn the name !” interrupted Rube. “ I’d change mine 
any day for a plug o’ Jeemes River bacca ; thot wud I sartint.” 

“No, capt’n,” continued the younger trapper, without heed- 
ing Rube’s interruption, “we hedn’t forgot you, neyther of us.” 

“That we hedn’t 1” added Rube emphatically : “ forgot ye — 
forgot the young fellur as tuk ole Rube for a grizzly ! He, he, 
he ! — ho, ho, hoo ! How Bill hyur did larf when I gin him the 
account o’ that bisness in the cave. Bill, boy, I niver seed you 
larf so in all my life. Ole Rube tuk for a grizzly 1 He, he, he 1 
— ho, ho, hoo 1” 

And the old trapper went off into a fit of laughing that occu 
pied nearly a minute. At the end of it, he continued : 

“ Thet wur a kewrious bit o’ dodgin— wa’nt it, young fellur ? 
You saved my olejsarkidge thet time, an I ain’t a-gwine to for- 
git it ; no, this child ain’t.” 

“ I think you have repaid me ; you have rescued me from the 
bear ?” 

“From one bar pree haps we did, but from t’other grizzly you 
rescoocd. yurself ; an, young fellur, you must a fit a putty con- 
sid’able bout afore the varmint knocked under. The way you hev 
gin him the bowie ur a caution to snakes, I peck’n.” 

“ What ? were there^two bears ?” 

“ Look thur ! thur’s a kupple, ain’t thur !” 

The trapper pointed in the direction of the fire. Sure enough, 
the carcasses of two bears lay upon the ground, both skinned, 
and partially cut up ! 

“ I fought with, only one.” 

“An thet wur enuf at a time, an a leetle more, I reck'n. 
Tain’t many as lives to wag thur jaws arter a stan-up tussle wi’ 
a grizzly. Wagh ! how you must have fit, to a rubbed out that 
bar I” 

“ I killed the bear, then ?” 


THE WAK-TKAIL. 


1*4 


“ Th*fc you sartintly did, young fellur. When Bill an me kirn 
on the groun^hedbar wur as dead as. pickled pork. We thort 
yuc. case wa’nt any better. Thur you lav a-huggin the bar, an 
the bar u-huggin you, as ef both on yur hed gone to sleep in a 
sort o’ friendly way, like the babbies in the wood. But thur 
wur yur- clitet a kiverin the paraira' for yurds round. Thur 
wa’nt as much blood in you as wud a gin a leech his breakfist.” 

“ The other bear V 1 

u She cum afterwards out o’ the gully. Bill, he wur gone to 
look arter the white boss I wur sittin by you, jest hyur, when 
I seed the varmint’s snout pokin up. I know’d it wur the she- 
bar a comin to see where ole Eph had strayed to. So I tuk up 
Targuts, and plummed the critter in the eye, and thet wur the 
eend o’ her trampin. 

“ Now, lookee hyur, young fellur 1 I ain’t no doctur, r.ey- 
ther’s Bill, but I knows enough about wownds to be sartint thet 
you must lay still, an stop talkin. Yur mighty bad scratched, 
I tell ye, but yur not dangerous, only you’ve got no blood in 
yur body, and you must wait till it gathers agin. Take another 
suck out o’ the gourd. Thur now, come, Billee ! leave ’im alone. 
Le’s go an hev a fresh tooth-full o’ bar-meat.” 

And so saying, the leathery figure moved off in the direction 
of the fire, followed by his younger companion. 

Although I was anxious to have a further explanation about 
the other points that puzzled me — about the steed, the trappers’ 
own presence, their knowledge of my wild hunt, and its antece- 
dents — I knew it would be useless to question Old Rube any 
further, after what he had said ; I was compelled, therefore, to 


follow his advice, and remain 




* 


VOWS OF VENGEANCE. 


H5 


*» 

CHAPTER XXYI. 

VOWS OF VENGEANCE. 

I soon fell asleep again, and this time slept long and pro- 
foundly. It was after nightfall, in fact, near midnight, when I 
awoke. The air had grown chilly, bat I found I had not been 
neglected ; my serape was wrapped closely around me, and with 
a buffalo-robe, had sufficiently protected me from the cold while 
I slept. On awaking, I felt much better and stronger. I looked 
around for my companions. The fire had gone out — no doubt 
intentionally extinguished, lest its glare amid the darkness 
might attract the eye of some roving Indian. The night was a 
clear one, though moonless ; but the heaven was spangled with 
its sparkling worlds, and the starlight enabled me to make out 
the forms of the two trappers and the group of browsing 
horses. Of the former, one only was asleep ; the other sat 
upright, keeping guard over the camp. He was motionless as a 
statue ; but the small spark gleaming like a glowworm from the 
bowl of his tobacco-pipe, gave token of his wakefulness. Dim 
as the light was, I could distinguish the upright form to be that 
of the earless trapper. It waL;Garey~who was sleeping. 

I could have wished it otherwise. I was anxious to have 
some conversation with the younger of my companions ; I was 
longing for an explanation, and I should have preferred address- 
ing myself to Garey. My anxiety would not allow me to wait, 
and I turned towards Rube. He sat near me, and I spoke in a 
kw tone, so as not to awake the sleeper. 

“ How came you to find me 

“By folleriu your trail.” 


7 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


ns 


“ Oh, you-followed-me then ! From the settlements ?” 

“ Not so fur. Bill an me wur camped in the chaparril, and 
spied you a-gallupiu, arter the..white hoss, as ef all the devils wur 
arter you. I kuowed yur at a glirnp ; so d’d Bill. Sez I : ‘ Bill, 
thet ur the young fellur as Jtuk. me for a grizzly up thur in the 
mountains,’ an the reckolecshun o’ the sark’mstance sot me a 
larfin till my ole ribs ached. ‘It ur ;he same,' sez BUI. 
jest then, we met a Mexikir. who hed been yur guids, gallup’n* 
about in-search o’ you. He gin us a story. ’bout some g uul-ftbet 
hed sent you to -catch the .white hoss ; some saynyora zlth a 
dodrotted long name. * Durn the weemen P sez I to Bill 
Didn’t I, Bill ?” 

To this interesting interrogatory;- Garey, who was but- halt 
asleep, gave an assenting grunt. 

“Wall,” continued Rube, “ seein thur wur a~pettycoat in the 
case, I sez to Bill, sez I : ‘Thet- young fellur ain’t a-gwine to 
pull up till eyther hegrups the hoss, or the hoss gits cl ur off.’ 
Now, I knowd you wur well mounted, but I knowd you wur arter 
the fasted critter on- all these parairas ; so I sez to Bill, y&I : 

1 Billee, thur boun for a long gallup.’ Sez Bill : 4 Thet'crsar- 
tin.’ Wal ! Bill an me-tuk the idee in our heads,- thet 70a 
mout git dost, for we, seed the-white Jioss wur a makin for the 
big paraira. It ain’t the biggest paraira fS^rsashun, but : fur 
one of the wust to git strayed on. Yiir greenhorns, wur all gone 
back, so -Bill an mecatched up our critters, an as -soon as we kud 
saddle ’em put arter you. When we kumd out in the paraira, 
we seed no-sigus 0’ you, ’ceptin yur trail. Thet we follered up ; 
but it wur. night long afore we got half way hyur, an wur 
obleeged to halt till sunup. 

“ In the mornin’, the trail wur nurly blind, on account o- 
the -rain ; an it tuk us a good spell afore we reached 
the. gully. ‘ Thur,’ sez Bill, ‘ the boss hes jumped in an hyur’s 
the trail 0’ the young feller leadin down the bank.’ Wal f -we 
wur jestturnin’ to go down, when we seed yur own hoss a good 


VOWS OF VENGEANCE. 


147 


ways off on the paraira, Without saddle or bridle. We rid 
straight for him, an when we got closter, we, seed somethin’ on 
the groun’ right under the boss’s nose. Thet somethin turned 
out to be yourself an the, grizzly, lyiu in grups, as quiet as a 
kupple o’ ‘ sleepin” possums. Yur hoss wur a squealin’ like 
a bag o’ wild-cats, an at fust Bill an me thort you hed go’ne 
under. Ru£ u^on a cfdsW view, we seed you wur only a faintin’ 
while the bar wur as a dead as buck. Of coorse we- sot about 
doctorin’ you to fotch you roun’ again.” 

“ But the steed ? the- white steed ?” 

“ Bill hyuivgrupped hii^ in the gully. A leetle further down 
it’s., stopped up wi’ big rocks. We, knowd that, for we’d been 
hyer afore ; we knowed the hoss kudn’t a got over the rocks, an 
Bill went arter an foun’ him, on a ledge whur he hed' dlomb out o’ 
reach o’ the flood ; and then he lazooed the critter, and fotched 
Mm up hyur. Now, young fellur, you, hev the hul story.” 

“ An theuhoss,” added Garey, rising from his recumbent posi- 
tion, “he’s^yourn, capt’n. Ef you hadn’t rid him down, 1 
couldn’t a roped him so easy. He’s yourn, ef yu’ll accept him..’’ 

“ Thanks, thanks ! not for the gift alone, but I may thank 
you for my life. But for, you, I might never have left the spot. 
Thanks 1 old comrades, thanks 1” 

Every point was now cleared up. There was mastery no 
longer, though, from an expression which Garey had dropped, 
I still desired a word with him in private. 

On further inquiry, I learned that the trappers wei„e on their 
way to take- part in the~campaign. Some barbarous- treatment 
they had' experienced from- Mexican soldiers at a frontier post, 
had rendered both of them inveterate foes tG Mexico ; and Rube 
declared he would -never be contented until he had “ plugged a 
score o? the yellur-hided , vamints.” The. breaking out of the 
war gave them the,opportunity they desired, and tlr*y were now 
on their. jw ay, from a distant part of prairie-land tc take a hand 
in it. 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


HS 

The vehemence of their hostility towards the Mexicans some* 
what-surprised me — as I knew it was a recent feeling with them 
• — and I inquired more particularly, into the nature of the ill- 
treatment they had received. They answered me by giving a 
detailed. account of the affair. It had occurred at one of the 
Mexican frontier towns, where, upon a slight pretext, the trap- 
pers had been arrested and flogged, by order of the command- 
ing officer of the post. 

“ Yes-s !” said Rube, the words -hissing angrily through his 
teeth ; “ yes-s, -flogged ! — a mountain-man flogged by a. cussed 
monkey of a Mexikin I Ne’er a mind ! ne’er a mind I By the 
’tarnal ! — an when I say thet, I swar it — this nigger don’t leave 
Mexiko till he hes rubbed out a soger for every lash they gin 
him— an that’s twenty !” 

“ Hours'. another, old boss !” cried Garey, with equal ear- 
nestness of manner — “ hyur’s- another that, swars the same 
oath !” 

“ Yes, Billee, boy ! I guess we’ll count some in a skrimmage. 
Thur’s. two aready ! lookeejffiur, young fellur !” 

As Rube^-said this, he held his rifle close to my eyes, pointing 
with his finger to a particular part of the stock. I saw two small 
notches freshly cut in the wood. I knew well enough what these 
notches meant; they were a registry 0 f the deaths of two Mexicans, 
who had fallen by the hand or- bullet of the trapper. They had 
not been the^only victims of that unerring and deadly weapon. 
On the same piece of wood-work I could see long-rows of similar 
souvenirs ,. apart from each others, only differing a little in shape. 
I knew something of the., signification of these horrible- hiero- 
glyphics ; I knew they were the history of a. life fearfully spent 
— a life of red realities. 

The- sight was far from pleasant. I turned my eyes away, 
and remained silent. 

“ Mark me > fellur I” continued Rube, wlio noticed that 

I was not gratified by the inspection ; “ don’t mistake Bill 


TOWS OF VENGEANCE. 


149 


Carey an me for wild beests ; we ain’t thet. quite : we’ve been 
mighty -.riled, I reck’n ; but'ffr all thet, w'c ain’t a-gwine to take 
revenge on weemen an childer, as Injuns do. No— ^-weemen an 
childer don’t count, nor men neyther, unless thur sogers. We’ve 
no spite agin the poor slaves o’ Mexiko. They never did me 
nor Bill harm We’ve been on one skurry, along wi’ the 
Yutaws, down to the Del Nort settlements. Thur’s^whur I 
made them -two nicks : but neyther Bill or me laid a finger on 
the weemin an childer. It wur bekase the Injuns did, thet we 
leftiem. We’re jest cum from thur. We want fair fight among 
Christyun whites ; thet’s why we’re hyur. Now, young feller 1” 
I was. glad to hear Jlube. talk in this manner, and I so-signi- 
fied to him. Indianised as the old trapper was, with all his 
savageness, all his reckless, indifference to ordinary- emotions, I 
knew there was still a touch of humanity in his breast. Indeed 
on more than one occasion, I had witnessed singular displays 
of fine feeling on the part of- Rube. Circumstanced as ho was, 
he is not to be judged by the laws of civilized life, 

“Your intention, then, is to join some corps of. rangers, is it 
not ?” I asked, after a pause. 

“ I shed ^like it,” replied Garey : “ I shed like to join your 
company, capt’n ; but Rube hyur won’t consent to it.” 

“No!” exclaimed the other with emphasis; “I’ll jine no 
kumpny. This niggur fights on his.own hook. Yur see, young 
fellur, I hev been all my life a free mountainee-man, an don’t 
understand sogerin, no how. I rnoht make some, .mistake, or I 
moutn’t like some o’ the regilashuns ; thurfor I prefers fightin 
arter my own fashun. Bill an me kin take care o’ ourselves, I 
reck’n. Kin we, Bill ?— eh, boyee ?” 

“I guess so, old hoss,” replied Garey, mildly ; but for all 
that, Rube, I think it would be better to go at it in a regular 
way-vparticularly as the capt’n hyur would make the sogerin 
part as easy as possible. Wudn’t yur, capt’n ?” 

“ The discipline of my corps is not very severe. We ar« 


150 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


Bangers, and our duties are different from those of regular sol 
diers ” 

“It ur no use,” interrupted Rube ; “I must fight as I’ve 
allers fit, free to kum an free to -go whar I please. I won’t bind 
myself. I moutu’t like it, an mout -desalt” 

“But by binding yourself,” suggested I, “you draw pay an 
rations ; whereas ” 

“ Darn pay an rashuns !” exclaimed the old trapper, striking 
the butt of his rifle upon the prairie. {< Darn pay an rashuns 1 
Young feller, I fights fuxrevenge /” 

This was said in an .energetic and conclusive manner, and I 
urged my advice no further. 

“Look hyur, cap l” continued the speaker, in a more subdued 
tone. “ Though I ain’t a-gwine to jine yur fellurs, yet thur ur 
a favor I wuff axe from yur, an thet is, to let me an Bill keep 
by you, or foller whuriver you lead. I don’t want to spunge for 
rashuus ; we’ll git thet, ef thur’s a head o’ game in Mexiko, an 
ef thur ain’t, why we kin eat a Mezikan / Can’t we, Bill ? — eh, 
boyee ?” 

Garey knew -this was one of Rube’s, jokes, and laughingly 
assented 4 adding at the same time, that he would prefer eating 
any other “sort o’ a varmint.” 

“ Ne’er a mind 1” continued Rube ; “ we ain’t a-gwine to 
starve. So,, young fellur, ef you agrees to our goin on them 
terms yu’ll heve a kupple o’ rifles near you, thet won’t miss fire 
— they won’t/’ 

“ Enough ! You shall go and come as you please. I shall 
be glad to have you near me, without binding you to any term 
of service.” 

“ Hooray I thet’s the sort for us I Kura, Billee I — gie’s 
arother suck out o’ yur gourd. Hyur’s success to the Stars and 
S' *ipes ! Hooray for Texas 1” 


A WEED-PRAIRIE ON FIRE. 


15! 


CHAPTER XXVII. 
a “weed”-prairie on fire. 

My recovery was rapid. My wounds, though deep, were not 
dangerous ; they were only flesh-wounds, and closed rapidly 
under the cauterising influence of the lechuguiUa. Rude as my 
doctors were, ir. the matter of such a malady, I could not have 
fallen into better hands. Both, during their lives of accident 
and exposure, had ample practice in the healing art ; and I 
would have trusted either, in the curing of a rattlesnake’s bite, 
or the tear of a grizzly bear’s claw, in. preference to the most 
accomplished surgeon. Old .Rube, in .particular,- thoroughly 
understood the simple pharmacopoeia of the prairies ; and his 
application to my wounds of the sap of the pita plant, obtained 
among the rocks of the ravine, bespoke his skill. This-plant, a 
bromeliay is of the same genus as th &~Agave Americana , and by 
travellers often.. confounded with the^ latter, though quite a dis- 
tinct plant from ihejmaguey of- cultivation. It-grows in most 
parts of Mexico and South America, extending as far north as 
the latitude of 30°. and even further. There is no spot too arid 
or barren to give support to it. It is a true desert plant ; and 
even on the naked ^ rock, its curved and thorny blades may be 
seen radiating on all sides from the tall flower-stalk, that shoots 
upward like a signal-staff, to the height of twenty feet. As 
already, observed, its uses are manifold : the fibre of its- leaves 
can be manufactured into thread, cordage, and cloth ‘ r fences are 
constructed of the growing plant, and. thatch of the blades when 
cut ; its sap, distilled, furnishes the fiery but not unwholesome 
raezcal ; and the large egg-shaped core or stem is eaten for food 


152 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


Tribes of Indians — Lipans, Comanches, and Apachds — use it ex- 
tensively as an article of diet. One branch of the great Apachd 
nation are distinguished as '' Mezcaleros n (eaters of the mezcal- 
plant.) They bake it in ground-ovens of heated stones, along 
with the flesh of the wild horse. It is firm when cooked, with a 
translucent appearance like candied fruits. I have eaten it ; it 
is palatable — I might say delicious. The mastication of it is 
accompanied by a pricklingjsensation upon the tongue, singular 
to one^unaccustomed to it. It is a gift of nature to the desert 
regions, where it grows in greatest luxuriance, and where it 
serves the same purpose in the economy of the savage natives as 
the ixias, mesembryanthemums , and zamias (the Caff re bread,) upon 
the arid karoos of Southern Africa. 

One of the most esteemed -qualities of this bromelia is the cau- 
terizing property of its juice, well known to the natives of the 
Mexican table-land, and to the. Peruvians, where several species 
are found of like virtues. It wilLcause ordinary wounds to cica- 
trise in a few hours, and even “ ugly gashes” will yield to it in 
time. 

My companions had full knowledge of its effects, and having 
extracted the sap from its large succulent leaves, and boiled it 
to the consistency of honey, they applied it to my wounds. This 
operation they from time to time repeated, and the scratches 
were healed iu a period marvellously short. My strength, too, 
was soon restored. Garey with his gun catered for the~cuisine, 
and the ruffed .grouse, the prairie. partridge, and roasted ribs of 
fresh venison, were dainties even to an invalid. 

In three days I was strong enough to mount ; and bidding 
adieu to our camping-ground, we set forth, taking with us our 
beautiful captive. He was still as wild as a deer; but we 
adopted precautions to prevent him from getting off. The trap- 
pers led him between them, secured to the saddles of both by a 
lazo. 

We did not -return in the direction of our old trail ; my com- 


A WEED-PEAIPJE ON FIEE. 


15S 


panions knew a snorter route, at least one upon which we should 
sooner reach. water, and that is the most important consideration 
on a prairie journey. We headed in a more westerly direction ; 
in which, by keeping in a straight line, we .should strike the Rio 
Grande some distance above the rancheria. 

The sky was leaden-grey, the sun not being visible, and with 
no guide in the he'avens, we knew that we might easily diverge 
from a direct course. To provide against this, my companions 
had recourse to a compass of their own invention. On taking 
our departure from the camp, a sapling was stuck into the 
ground, and upon the top of this was adjusted a piece of bear’s- 
skin, which, with the long hair upon it, could be distinguished at 
the distance of a mile or more. The direction having been de- 
termined upon, another wand, similarly garnished with a tuft of 
the bear’s-skin, was set up several hundred yards distant from 
the first. 

Turning our backs upon these signal-posts, we rode off with 
perfect confidence, glancing back at intervals to make sure we 
were keeping the track. So long as they remained in sight, and 
aligned with each other, we could not otherwise than travel in a 
straight path. It was an ingenious, contrivance, but it was not 
the first time I had been witness to the “instincts” of my trap- 
per-friends, and therefore I was not astonished. 

When the black tufts were well-nigh hidden from view, a 
similar pair — the materials for which had been brought along — 
were erected, and these, insured our direction for another stretch 
of a mile; then fresh saplings were planted ; and so on, till we 
had passed over some six miles of the plain. 

We now came in sight of timber right ahead of us, and appa- 
rently about five miles distant. Towards this we directed our 
course. 

We reached the timber about noon, and found it to consist o 

y 

black-jack and post-oak groves, with mezquite and wild-china 

7* 


154 


THE WAR- TRAIL. 


trees interspersed, and here and there some taller trees of tho 
honey locust ( Gleditschia triacan(hos). 

It was not a close, forest, but a succession of groves, with 
openings between — avenues and grassy glades. There were 
many pleasant spots, and, faint with the ride, I would fain have 
chosen one of them for a resting-place; but there was no water, 
and without water we could. not halt. A short distance further, 
and we should reach a stream — a small arroyo , an affluent ot 
the Rio Grande. So promised my companions, and we rode 
onward. 

After passing a mile or so through the timber-openings, we 
came out on the edge of a prairie of considerable extent. It was 
full three miles in diameter, and differed altogether from the 
plain we had left behind us. It was of the kind known in 
hunter phraseology as a “ weed-prairie, ” that is, instead ot 
having a grassy turf, its surface was covered with a thick growth 
of flowering-plants, as Jtekanthus, malms , alt Mas t hibiscus , and 
other, tall annuals standing side by side, and frequently laced 
together by wild-pea vines and various species of convolvulus. 
Such a flower-prairie was the. one now before us, but not a 
flower was in sight; they had all bloomed, faded, and fallen, 
perhaps, unseen by human eye, and the withered stalks, burned 
by a hot sun, looked brown and forbidding. They cracked and 
broke at the slightest touch, shelling their seed-pods like rain 
upon the loose earth. 

Instead of striking across this prairie, we skirted around its 
edge; aud, at no great distance, arrived on the banks of the 
arroyo which ran along one side. 

We had made but a short march ; but my companions, fearful 
that a longer ride might bring on fever, proposed to encamp there 
for the night, and finish our journey on the following day. 
Though I felt strong enough to have gone further, I made no 
objection to the proposal; and our horses were at once unsad- 
dled and picketed near the banks of the arroyo. 


A WEED-PRAIRIE ON EIRE. 


155 


The. stream ran through a little bottom-valley, covered with a 
sward of grass, and upon this we staked our steeds; but a bet- 
ter place offered for our camp upon the higher ground ; and we 
chose a spot under the shade of a large locust-tree, upon the 
edge of the great wilderness of weeds. To this place we car- 
ried our saddles, bridles, and blankets, and having collected a 
quantity of dead branches, kindled our <jamp-fire. We had 
already quenched our-4kirst at the. stream; but, although we 
were all three hungry enough, the dried flesh of the grizzly bear" 
proved but a poor repast. The rivulet looked promising for 
fish. Garey carried both hooks and line in his “ possible sack,” 
and I proposed the angle. 

The young trapper soon baited his hooks ; and he and I, 
repairing to the stream, cast our lines, sat down, and waited for 
a nibble. 

Fishing was not to Rube’s taste. For a few minutes he stood 
watching us, but evidently with little interest, either in the sport 
or what it might produce. Rube was not a fish-eater. 

“ Durn yur fish 1” exclaimed he at length ; “ I’d ruther hev a 
hunk o’ deer-meat than all the fish in Texas. I’ll jest see ef I 
kin scare up somethin’; the place looks likely for deer — 

. it do.” 

So saying, the old trapper shouldered his long rifle, and stalk 
ing away, up the bank, was soon out of sight. 

Garey and I continued bobbing with but indifferent success, 
We had succeeded in drawing out a couple of cat-fish, not the 
most palatable of the finny tribe, when the crack of Rube’s rifle 
sounded in our ears. It seemed to come from the weed- 
prairie, and we both ran up on the high bank to ascertain what 
success had attended the shot. Sure enough, Rube was out in 
the prairie, nearly half a mile distant from the camp His 
head and shoulders were just visible above the tall stalks of the 
helianthus; and we could see, by his stooping at intervals, that 
he was bending over some game he had killed, skinning or cut 


150 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


ting it up. The. game we could not see, on account of the 
interposed-stalks of the weeds 

“ A- deer, 1 reck’n,” remarked Garey. “ Baffler don’t often 
o’ late years stray so far to the suthei;t, though I’ve killed some 
on the. Grande** higher up.” 

Without- other remark passing between us, we descended to 
the arroyo, and continued our fishing. We took it for granted 
that Rube did not require any aid, or he would have signalled 
to us. He would soon return with his game to the camp. 

We had just discovered that silver-fish (a species of hyodon) 
were plentiful in the stream, and this*- attracted us back. We 
were, desirous of taking some of them for our dinner, knowing 
them to be excellent eating, and far superior to the despised 
“ cat.” 

Having. changed our bait for some small pieces of gold-lace, 
which my uuiform furnished, we succeeded in pulling several of 
these, beautiful creatures out of the water; and were congra- 
tulating one another upon the delicious broil we should, have, 
when our conversation was suddenly. interrupted by a crackling 
noise, that caused both of us to turn our faces towards the 
prairie. The sight that met our eyes prompted us to spring 
simultaneously , to our feet. Our horses -already reared upon rtf' 
their lazoes, neighing with affright, and the wild screams of 
Rube’s mustang mare were loud and continuous. There was nc 
mystery about the cause; that was obvious at a glance. The 
wind had blown some sparks among the .dry flower-stalks. The 
prairie was on fireL 

Though startled at the first sight of the conflagration, for our 
selves we had nothing to fear. The bottom on which we stood 
was a sward of short buffalo-grass; it was not likely to catch 
fire and even if it did, we could easily escape from it. There is 
not much danger in a burning-prairie where the grass is light 
and short ; one can dash through the line of flame with no- further 
injury than the singeing of his hair, or a little suffocation frcn^ 


A WEED-PRAIRIE ON FIRE. 


157 


smoke; but upon a plain covered with rank and thick vegeta- 
tion. the case is very different. We therefore felt no apprehen- 
sion for ourselves, but we did for our companion ; his situation 
filled us with alarm. 

Was he. still where we had last seen him ? This was the first 
question we asked one another. If so, then his peril was great 
indeed ^escape would be almost, hopeless! We had observed 
him a full half mile out among the weeds. He was on foot too. 
To have attempted a retreat towards the opposite side of the 
prairie would have been folly: it was three miles off. Even on 
horseback, the flames would have overtaken him! Mounted, or 
on foot, - he could.not have got out of the way through those tall 
stalks — laced as tbey-were by pea-vines and other trailing plants 
— whose tough tangle would have hindered the progress of the 
strongest horse! 

To have returned to the. near side would be his only chance; 
but that would be in the very -face of the fire, and, unless he 
had started long before thg flames broke out, it was evident 
that his retreat in that direction would be cut off. As already 
stated, the weeds were as dry as tinder; and the flames, impel- 
led by gusts of wind, at intervals shot out their red tongues, 
licking up the withered stalks, coiling like serpents around them, 
and consuming them almost instantaneously. 

Filled with forebodings, my companion and I rushed in the 
direction of the prairie. 

When first noticed by us, the fire had extended but a few 
yards on each side of the locust-tree we had chosen for our 
camp. We were not opposite this point at the moment, having 
gone a little way down the arroyo; we ran, . therefore, not 
towards the camp, but for the nearest point of high ground, in 
order to discover the situation of our friend. On reaching the 
high ground, about two hundred yards from the locust, we saw, 
to our astonishment that the fire had already spread, and was 
now burning forward to the spot where we had climbed up’ We 


158 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


had only a moment to glance outward, when the conflagration, 
hissing and crackling as it passed, rolled in front of us, and with 
its wall of flame shut off our. view of the prairie. 

But that glance had shown us all, and. filled our hearts with 
sorrow and dismay; it revealed the situation of the trapper — no 
louger a situation of. peril, but, as we supposed, of certain death! 
He was still in the place where we had last seen him; he had 
evidently made no attempt to. escape from it. Perhaps the 
knowledge that such an attempt must have failed, had hindered 
him from making it. The reflection that he might as well die 
where he stood, as be licked up by the flames in the act of flee- 
ing from them, had bound him to the spot! 

Oh! it was a dread sight to see that old man, hardened sinner 
that he was, about to be snatched into eternity ! I remember 
his wild look, as the red flame, rolling between us, shut him 
from our sight! We had. seen him but for a single instant: his 
head and shoulders were alone visible above the tall weeds. He 
made no sign either with voice or arm; but I fancied that even 
at that distance I could read his glance of despair. 

Was there no hope ? Could no exertion be made to rescue 
him? Could he do nothing for himself? Was there no chance 
of his being able to clear a circle round him, and burn off a 
space before the line of fire could come up? Such a ruse has often 
availed, but no~never in such ground as that! The weeds 
were too thick and tall — it could not be done — Garey said it 
could not be done. 

There ^as no hope, then. The trapper was lost ! 


RUBE ROASTED ALIYE. 


159 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

RUBE ROASTED ALIVE. 

Doomed beyond doubt — doomed to quick, awful, and certain 
death was the earless trapper. In five minutes more be must 
perish. The wall of. flame / moving faster than charging cavalry, 
would soon envelop him, and surer than the carbine’s volley or 
the keen sabre-cut was the. death borne forward by that hissing, 
crackling cohort of fire. Here and there, tall jets, shooting sud- 
denly upward, stalked far in advance of the main line — fiery 
giants, with red arms stretched forth, as if eager to grasp their 
victim. Already their hot breath was upon him ; another min- 
ute, and he. must perish ! 

In a sort of stupor we stood, Garey and I, watching the ad- 
vance of the flames. Neither of us uttered a word : painful emo- 
tions prevented speech. Both our hearts were~beating audibly. 
Mine was. bitterly wrung ; but I-knew that of my companion was 
enduring the very acme oLanguish. I glanced upward to his 
face : his. eye was fixed, and looked steadfastly in one direction 
— as though it would pierce the sheet of flame, that rolled further 
and further from where we stood, and nearer to the fatal spot. 
The expression of that eye was fearful to behold ; it was a look 
of concentrated agony. A single, tear had escaped from it, and 
was rolling down the rude weather-bronzed cheek, little used to 
such bedewing. The broad chest was heaving in short quick 
spasm, and it was evident the man was struggling with hil 
breath. He was listening through all this intensity of gaze — 
listening for the death-shriek- -of his old comrade — his bosom- 
friend ! 


160 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


Not long was the suspense ; though there was no shriek, no 
cry of human voice, to indicate the crisis. If any arose, it was 
not heard by us. It could not have been ; it would have been 
drowned amid the roar of the flames, and the crackling of the 
hollow culms, whose pent-up gases, set free by the fire, sounded 
like the continuous rolling of musketry. No. death-cry fell upon 
our ears ; but, for all that, we were satisfied that the drama bad 
reached its denouement ; the unfortunate trapper was roasted 
alive I 

Already the flames had passed over the spot where we had 
last seen him— far beyond — -leaving the ground charred and 
black behind them. Though the smoke hindered our view of the 
plain, we knew that the climax had passed : the hdpless victim 
had succumbed ; and it remained only to look for his bones 
among the smouldering ashes. 

TJp to this moment, Garey had stood in a fixed attitude, silent 
and rigid as a statue. It was not hope that had held him thus 
spell-bound ; he had entertained no such feeling from the first : 
it was rather a paralysis produced by despair. Now that the 
crisis was over, and heielt certain that his comrade had perished, 
his muscles, so long held in tension, suddenly relaxed — his arms 
fell loosely to his sides — the tears chased each other over his 
cheeks — his head reclined forward, and in a hoarse, husky voice 
he exclaimed : 

“ 0 ! God o’ mercy, he’s rubbed out, rubbed out 1 We’ve 
seed the last o’ poor Old Rube 1” 

My sorrow, though^ perhaps not so-Jteen a& that of my. com- 
panion, was nevertheless.sufficiently painful. I knew the. earless 
trapper well — had been his associate under strange circumstances 
■ — amid scenes of .danger that draw men’s hearts more closely- to- 
gether than any phrases of flattery or compliment. More than 
once had I , seen him tried in the hour of peril ; and I knew that, 
notwithstanding the wildness and eccentricity of his character — 
of his crimes, I might add — his heart, ill directed by early eduu 


EUBE BOASTED ALIVE. 


161 


cation, ill guided by after-association, was still rife with many 
virtues. Many -proofs of this could I recall ; and I confess that 
a feeling akin to friendship had -grown up between myself and 
this -singular man. 

Between, Garey and Rube the-ties were still stronger. Long 
and Uiseparable,.companionship— years of participation in a life 
of hardships and perils — like, thoughts and habitudes — though 
perhaps .dispositions,. age, and characters were a good deal un- 
like — all had combined to unite the two in a firm bond of friend- 
ship. Tamse their owu. expressive, phrase, they “froze” to each 
other. No wonder then that the -look, with which the young 
trapper regarded that black plain, was one of indescribable 
anguish. 

To his mournful speech, I made no reply. What, could I have 
said ? 1 could not offer consolation. 1 was weeping as well as 

he : my silence was but an assent to his sad soliloquy : 

After a moment, he continued, his voice still tremulous with 
sorrow : “ Come,-«ommarade ! It af^ no use our cryiu like a 
kupple o’ squaws.” With his large finger he dashed the tears 
aside, as if ashamed of having shed them. “ It tire all over now. 
Let’s look arter his bones — that- is, if thar’s anything left o’ ’em 
— and gie ’em Christyun burial. Come !” 

We caught ou&horses, and mounting,, rode off over the burnt 
ground. The hoofs of the animals tossed up the smouldering , 
ashes, the hot red cinders causing them to prance. The, smoko 
pained our eyes, and prevented us from seeing far ahead ; but we 
guided ourselves, as well as we could, towards the point where 
we had last seen the trapper, and where we expected to find his 
remains. 

On nearing the spot, our eves fell upon a dark mass that lay 
upon the plain ; it was much larger than the body of a man. We 
could not make out what it was, until within a few feet of it, and 
gven then it was difficult to recognize it as the carcass of a 
buffalo^though such in reality it was. It was the^game which 


162 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


the tiapper had killed. It rested as it had fallen — as these aui« 
mals usually- fall — upon the breast, with legs widely spread, and 
humped shoulders upward. We could perceive that the unfor- 
tunate man had nearly finished, skinning it — for the hide, parted 
along the spine, had been .removed from the back and sides, and 
with the fleshy side turned outward, was hanging to the ground, 
so as to conceal the lower half of the carcass. The whole sur- 
face was burnt to the color of charcoal. 

But where were the remains of the hunter ? They were no- 
where to be seen near the spot. The smoke had cleared away 
sufficiently to enable us to observe the ground for several hun- 
dred yards around us. An object of smalLdimensions could have 
been, distinguished upon the now bare surface ; but -none was 
seen. Yes ! a mass lay beside the carcass, which drew our atten- 
tion for a moment ; but on riding up to it we perceived that it 
was the stomach and intestines of the buffalo* black and half 
broiled. 

Where were the bones of-Rube ? Had he run away from the 
spot, and perished elsewhere ? 

We glanced towards the fire still raging on the distant plain. 
But no : it was not probable he had gone-thence. By the last 
look we had obtained of him, it did not appear that he was mak- 
ing any effort to escape, and he could scarcely have gone a hun- 
dred yards before the flames swept over the-spot. How then ? 
Were his bones entirely consumed — caleined-^reduced to ashes ? 
The lean, withered, and dried-up body of the old mountain-man 
favored such a supposition ; and we began seriously to entertain 
it — for in no other way could we account for the total absence 
of all remains 1 

For some moments we sat in our saddles under the influence 
of strange emotions, but without exchanging a word. We scanned 
the black surface round and round. The smoke no longer hin- 
dered our view of the ground. In the weed-prairies there is no 
grassy turf ; and the dry herbaceous stems of the anuuals had 


- No,” said Garey, with a long-drawn sigh. 44 Poor Old liube ! The cussed thing ha> 
ourned him to ashes — bones an’ all ! Thur ain’t as much o’ im left as ’ud fill a tabacca 
pipe !” ■ f 

“The ur ain’t!” replied a voice that caused both of us to start in our saddles 

if it had been Rube’s ghost, that addressed us. — P agk 163 






















































/ 




































































































































































































/ 




































































































' 

























































RUBE ROASTED AL.VE. 


163 


turned. out, with the rapidity of blazing flax, so that nothing 
now remained to cause a smoke. The. fire was red or dead in 
an instant. We could see clear enough all that lay over the 
ground, but nothing like the remains of a human being 1 

“ No,” said G-arey, with a long-drawn sigh. “ Poor Old Rube I 
The cussed thing has burned him to ashes^-bones an all 1 Thur 
ain’t as much o’ im left as ’ud fill a tabacca-pipe I” 

_•>“ The h— 11 thur ain’t !’’ replied a voice that caused both of us 
to -start in our saddles, as if it had been Rube’s ghost that ad- 
dressed us — “ the h— 11 thur ain’t 1” repeated the voice, as though 
it came out of the ground beneath our feet. “ Thur’s enough o’ 
Ole Rube left to till the stummuk o’ this hyur huffier ; an by the 
jumpin Geehosophat, a tight fit it ur ! Wagh ! I’m, nigh suf- 
focated ! Gie’s yur claws, Bill, an pull me out o’ this fiVur trap !” 

To our astonishment the pendent hide of the buffalo was raised 
by an invisible hand ; and underneath appeared, protruding 
through a hole in the side of the huge carcass, the unmistakable 
physiognomy of the earless trapper ! 

There was something so ludicrous in the apparition, that the 
sight of it, combined with the joyful reaction of our feelings, sent 
both Garey and myself into convulsions of laughter. The young 
trapper lay back in the saddle to give freer play to his lungs ; 
and his loud cachinnations, varied at intervals by savage yells, 
caused our horses to dance about as if they dreaded an onslaught 
of Indians ! 

At first, I could detect a significant smile at the angles formed 
by Rube’s thin lips ; but this disappeared as the laughter con- 
tinued too long for his patience. 

“ Cuss yur larfin 1” cried he at length. “ Kum, Billee, boy ! 
Lay felt h/§ff$i gi’ me a. help, or I must wriggle out o' mee- 
self. The durned-hole ain’t es big es'twur when I'kr^p in. Durn 
it, man, make haste ! I’m better’n half-baked 1” 

Garey now-leaped from his horse, and taking hold of his com* 
rade by the “claws,” drew him out of his singular hiding-place. 


164 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


But the appearance of the old trapper, as he stood erect — red, 
reeking, and .greasy — was so supremely ..Judicrous, that both 
Garey and I were forced into a fresh fit of laughter, which lasted 
for several minutes. 

Rube, once released from his uncomfortable-situation, paid not 
the slightest attention to our mirth ; but stooping down, drew 
out his long rifle — from where he had secured it under the hang- 
ing skin — and after having examined the piece, to see that no 
harm had come to it, he laid it gently across the horns of the 
bull. Then taking the “ bowie v from his belt, he quietly pro- 
ceeded with the skinning of the buffalo, as if nothing had hap- 
pened to interrupt the operation. 

Meanwhile Garey and I had laughed ourselves hoarse, and, 
moreover, were .brimful o£ curiosity to know the particulars of 
Rube’s adventure. For some time he fought shy ot our queries, 
and pretended to be “ miffed” at the manner in which we had 
welcomed him to* life again. It was all-pretence, however, as 
Garey well knew ; and the latter having-thrust into his-comrade’s 
hand the gourd, still containing a small drop of aguardiente , 
soon conciliated him ; and after a little morecoaxing, he conde- 
scended to give us the details of his curious escapade. Thus 
ran his narration : 

“ Ee wur both o’ yur mighty green to, think thet arter fightin 
grizzly bar an Injun for nigh forty yeern on these hyur pararais, 
I wur a gwine to be rubbed out by a spunk o’ fire like thet. 
Preehaps ’twur nat’ral enough for the young fellur hyur to take 
me for & greenhorn, seein as he oncest tuk me for & grizzly. He, 
he, he— ho, ho, hoo I I say it wur, an ur nat’ral enough for 
him to a thort so ; but you might a knowd better— you, Bill 
Garey, seein as ee oughter knowd me. 

“ Wal !” continued Rube, after another “suck” at the gourd, 
“ when I seed the weeds afire, I knowd it wa’nt no use makin 
tracks. Preehaps if Pd a spied the thing when thejdeeze fust 
broke out, I raout a run for it, an mout a hed time j but I wur 


RUBE ROASTED ALIVE. 


165 


busy^kinnin this hyur.beest wi’ my head dost down to the kar- 
kidg*, an Jkurfor didn’t see nuthin till I heern the cracklin, an 
in coorse thur wa’nt the ghost o’ a chance to git clur then. I 
seed thet at the fust glimp. 

“ I aiu’t a gwine to say I wa’nt skeart ; I wur skeart, an bad 
skeart too. I thort for a spell, I wur boun to go under. Jest 
then I sot my eyes upon the buffler. I hed got the critter ’bout 
half-skinned, as ee see ; an the, idee kim inter my head, I mout 
crawl somehow under, an pull the hide $ver me. I tried thet 
plan fust ; but I kudn’t git kivered to my saterfaction, an I gin 
it up. A better idee then kim: uppermost, an thet wur to clur 
out the anymal’s inside, an thur cache. I reck’n I wa’nt long in 
euttin out a wheen o’ the buffler’s, ribs, an tearin out the guts ; 
an I wa’nt long neyther in squezzin my karkidge, feet fo’most, 
through the hole. I hedn’t need to a been long ; it wur a close 
shave an a tight fit, it wur. Jest as 1 hed got my head ’bout 
half through, the bleeze kim swizzin round, an nearly singed the 
ears off o’ me. He, he, he — ho, ho, hoo !” 

Garey and I joined in the laugh, at what we both knew to be 
one of Old Rube’s favorite jokes ; but Rube himself chuckled so 
long, that we became impatient to hear the end of his adventure. 

“Weill” interrupted Garey, “consarn your old skin! what 
next ?” 

“Wagh t” continued the trapper, “the way thet bleeze did 
kum wur a caution to , snakes. It roared and screeched, an 
yowlted an hissed, an the weeds crackled like a million o’ wagon- 
whups 1 I whf like to be spiflicated wi’ the smoke, but I con- 
truv to pull down the flap o’ hide, an thet gin me some relief, 
though I wur well-nigh choked afore I got the thing fixed. So 
thur I lay till I lieern you fellurs palaverin about a ’bacca-pipe 
an thurfur I knowd the hul thing wur over. Wagh 1” 

And with this exclamation Rube ended his narration, and 
Once more betook himself to the butchering of the already half 
roasted buffalo. 




THE WAR-TRAIL. 


166 

Garey and I lent a hand ; and having cut out the hump-ribs 
and other titbits, we returned to the camp. What with broiled 
hyodons, roast ribs, tongue, and marrow-bones, we had no rea- 
son for that night to be dissatisfied with the hospitality of the 
prairies. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

THE MESA. 

After a breakfast of buffalo-flesh, seasoned with splendid ap- 
petites, and washed down by a cup of cold water from the arroyo, 
we “ saddled up,” and headed for a high - butte, just visible over 
the plain. My companions knew the landmark well. It lay di- 
rectly in our route. We should pass near its base, and a ride, 
of ten miles further would bring us to the end of our journey ; 
indeed, the eminence was within sight of the rancheria. From 
the roof of the alcalde’s house, I had frequently noticed it. In 
clear weather only was it visible, outlined against the horizon, hi 
a northwesterly direction from the village. 

Struck with the. -singularity of this -prairie-mound, I had pro- 
jected a visit to it ; but circumstances had prevented me from 
carrying out my intention. I was now to have the pleasure of a 
nearer acquaintance with it. 

I have called it. singular. Most isolated hills are conical, 
dome-shaped, or ridge-like ; this one differed from the usual con- 
figuration-^-hence its singularity. It presented the*, appearance 
of a huge,.box set upon the prairie, not unlike that rare forma- 
tion, the “-eofre,” which crowns the summit of the mountain 
Perote. Its. sides in the distance appeared perfectly vertical, 
and its top as horizontal as the plain on which it rested. 


THE MESA. 


167 


As we drew, nearer, I could perceive, by the dark parapet-like 
band along its crest, that it was covered with a growth o£iim- 
ber. This was the more readily.observed from contrast with the 
perpendicular sides, which were almost of a snowy whiteness, on 
account of the gypsum, chalk, or milky quartz of which the rock 
was composed. The most peculiar feature of the mound was 
perhaps its apparently -regular form — a perfect-parallelopipedon. 
But it was -striking in other respects. Its sides glistened fan- 
tastically under the rays of the sun, as though it were studded 
with windows of glass. This, however, was easily accounted 
for ; and I knew that the ^sparkling effect was produced by plates 
of mica or. selenite that entered into the composition of the rock. 
I had seen -whole mountains that presented a similar appearance. 
More than one such exists in the great American-Saiira, in whose 
glittering cliffs, viewed from afar, may be found the origin of that 
wild chimera, the' mountain of gold. 

Although neither a mountain of gold nor silver, the mound in 
question was an object of rare interest. A very enchanted castle 
did ikappear, and it was. difficult to assign its formation to nature 
alone. Human agency,- one could not help fancying, must have 
had something to. do in. piling up a .structure so regular and com- 
pact. But -he who has travelled over much of the earth’s sur- 
face will have met with many “freaks” of nature, exhibiting like 
appearance of design, in her world of inorganic matter. It was, 
in one of those formations of which- many are met with in 
the plateaux-lands of America, known in Spanish phraseology as 
mesas. This name is given to them in allusion to the flat table- 
like tops, which distinguish them from other elevated summits. 
Sometimes one of these mesas is found hundreds of miles from 
any similar eminence ; more frequently a. number of them stand 
near each other, like .truncated cones — the summits of all being 
on the same level, and often- covered with a vegetation differing 
materially from that of the surrounding plains. Geologists have 
affirmed-that these table-tops are the ancientjevel of the plaim 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


168 

themselves ; and that all around, and- intervening between thera ; 
has either-sunk or ...submitted to the»-degradation of water 1 It 
is a- vague explanation, and scarcely, satisfies the speculative 
mind. The mesa of Mexico is still a geological puzzle. 

As we approached this singular object, I could not help re- 
garding it with a degree of curiosity. I had seen mesa heights 
before — in the “mauvaise terre,” upon the Missouri, in the 
Navajo country, west of the- Rocky Mountains, and., along the 
edges of the “ Llano Estacado,” which of itself is a vast mesa. 
The mound before us wasL. peculiar, from its very regular form, 
and the sparkling- sheen of its cliffs. Its complete- isolation, 
moreover,, added to the effect — for no- other eminence appeared 
in sight. The -low hills that bordered the Rio Grande could 
barely be distinguished in the,<listance. 

Ongetting-nearer.to it, its.character became somewhat altered ; 
the square box-like., form appeared less .regular, and it was then 
perceived that the-parallelopipedon was not perfect. Slight 
ledges could be traced, traversing the face of its. cliffs, and here 
and there the- rectangular lines were, broken to the eye. Nature, 
after, all, had-mot been so.exact in her-architecture. Yet, with 
every-deduction, it was neingulaF-structure to. look upon, not the 
less so that its-summit wasMnaccessible ta human foot. A pro 
cipicejifty yards sheer, fronted outward on all sides ; no one had 
ever scaled this precipice — so alleged my^compauions, who were 
well -acquainted with the locality. 

We had approached within less, than a mile of its base ; oni* 
conversation had dropped — at least so far as I was concerned , 
my? thoughts were occupied with the . mound, and my eyes -wan 
dered over its ^outlines. I was. endeavoring to make- out the 
character of th&..vegetation which seemed to Uourish, luxuriantly 
on its - summit. The dark^ foliage was evidently that vf some 
species of acicular trees, perhaps the common red cedar (Juni- 
perus Virginiana) ; but there were, others of lighter hue — in all 
likelihood pihons, the pines with -edible cones, peculiar to this 


THE MESA. 


1G9 


region, Imoticed, also,. growing upon the very edge of the cliff, 
yuccas and_aloes, whose radiating, blades, stretching out., curved 
gracefully over the white rock. Forms- of cactus, too, were ap- 
parent, and several -plants-of the great ‘pitaha/ya, rose high above 
the cliff, like gigantic candelabra, strange objects in such ^situa- 
tion. 

My companions seemed to have no eyes for these rare vege- 
table beauties ; I could hear them at intervals engaged in con- 
versation ; but the -subject had no reference to the- scene, and I 
paid little attention to what they were saying. 

All at once I was startled by the voice of Garey, giving utter- 
ance to the emphatic announcement : 

“ Injuns,, by I” 

11 Indians I — where ?” 

The Jnterrogaiion escaped my lips. It was, half-involuntary, 
and needed na reply. Garey’s glance guided me ; and, following 
its direction, I observed a string of horsemen just debouching 
from behind the mesa, and spurring forward upon the plain. 

Both my companions had drawn bridle, and halted. I followed 
their example ; and all three of ug sat in onr saddles, scanning 
this sudden apparition of mounted men. A dozen had now 
cfeared, themselves from behind the mesa, and were riding 
toward^us.^ 

were yet nearly #mile from, them ; and at that distance 
it is -difficult to distinguish a, white man from an Indian — I should 
rather say. impossible. Even at half the distance, the oldest 
prairie-men are sometimes puzzled. The garments are often not 
very dissimilar, and sun-bronze and dust confound the complex- 
ions. Although Garey, at first sigrht of them, had pronounced 
the horsemen to be Indians — the most probable supposition 
under the circumstances — it was but a random conjecture, and 
for some time we remained in doubt. 

“ If they’re -Injuns,’’ suggested Garey, “ they’re- Comanche.” 

“ An if thur Kimanch,” added Rube, with ominous emphasis, 

8 


170 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


“ we’ve got to-fightr If thur Kimancl r tkur on the-war-trail, an 
thur’ll be -mischief in ’em. Wagh ! Look to your -flints an 
primin !” 

Rube’s_.counsel was instantly- followed. .Necessity -quickened 
our precautions. All of us well knew, that, should the approach- 
ing horsemen turn out to be 'Oomanches, we had no -alternative 
but fight. 

This warlike nation occupies the whole western area of Texas, 
ranging; from the Rio Grande on the south to the. Arkansas on 
the north. They are to-day, with theirkindred tribes, the most 
powerful Jndian- alliance on the continent. They -affect the 
ownership of-all prairie-land, styling themselves its “lords,” 
though their sovereignty towards the north is successfully ^dis- 
puted by the- Pawnees, Sioux, Blackfeet, and others as warlike 
as they. From the. earliest times, they have been th & fiend of 
the-Texan -settler ; and a detailed- accouut of their forays and 
pillaging-expeditions would fill a score of volumes. But from 
these they have not gone back unscathed. The reprisals have 
outnumbered th e-assaults, and the rifle of the border ranger has 
done it&.work of vengeance. In^Mexico they have found less 
puissant-defenders of the hearth and home ; and upon the north- 
eastern provinces of that unhappy-country, the-Comanchea.have 
been for the last half-century in the habit of making an annual 
foray of war and -plunder. Infact^tliR has become the better 
part of theiiv subsistence, as they usually return from their riev- 
ing expeditions laden with, spoil, and carrying with them vast 
droves of horses, mules, horned cattle, and captive women. For 
a short time these dusky freebooters were at peace with the Anglo- 
American colonists of Tjjexas,, It was but a -temporary armistice, 
brought about by Houston ; but Lamar’s administration, of a 
less^acific character, succeeded, and theLsettlers were again em- 
broiled with the -Indians. War to the knife was declared and 
carried .on ; .red and white killed each other on sight. Wj^en 
twa.men met upon the -prairie, the. color of the skin determined 


THE MESA.. 


171 


• 

-fee relations between them ! If they differed in this, they wer« 
enernies^without parley, and to-kill the other was the first thought 

each. Theses talionis was the-eustom of the hour. 

If the rancor could possibly have beemaugmented, an incident 
had just- transpired calculated to have that effect. A band of 
Comanche warriors had.offered their services to the commander- 
in-chief of the-American army ! They held the- following lan- 
guage : 

“Let us-fight on_your side. We have no quarrel with you. 
You are^warriors : we^know it, and^. respect you. We fight 
against the^cowardly Mexicans, who. robbed us of our country. 
We fight forJSIoctezuma 1” 

These„_words, uttered along the whole northern frontier of 
Mexico, are.full of strangn-lmport. 

The American-commander prudently, declined the Comanche 
alliance ; and the result was the bitter ^triangular war in which, 
as already noticed^ we were now engaged. 

If, then, the approaching horsemen were Indians of the- Co- 
manche tribe, Rube’s • forecast was correct; we had “got to 
fight.” 

With this* understanding, we. lost no time in- putting ourselves 
in an, attitude of defence. Hastily dismounting, and sheltering 
our bodies behind those of our horses, we awaited the approach 
of the band. 


172 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

GUERRILLEROS. 

The! manoeuvre bad occupied only a few seconds of time, and 
the horsemen were yet- distant. They had thrown themselves 
into a formation, and were riding “ by twos /” 

This movement took us by surprise. The tactics were not In- 
dian : Comanches never march in double file. The horsemen 
could not be Indians. Who, then ? 

A sudden hope crossed my mind, that it might be a party of 
my. own people, out in search of me. “ By twos ” was our 
favorite and habitual order of march. But no ; the long lances 
and streaming_pennons at once dissipated the hope : there was 
not adance in the American army. They could not be “ rangers.” 

Comanches on the war-trail would have been armed with the 
lance, but clearlyjdiey were, not Comanches. 

“ Wagh 1” exclaimed Rube, after .eyeing them intently, “ Ef 
thur Injuns, -I’m a niggur ! Ef thur. Injuns, they’ve got-beards 
an sombrayras, an theta’* n’t Injun sign nohow. No 1” he added, 
raising his voice, “ thur a- gang o’ yellur-bellied Mexikins ! thet’s 
what they ur.” 

All three of us had arrived simultaneously at the same con- 
viction. The horsemen were -Mexicans. 

It was no great source of rejoicing to know this ; and the 
knowledge^produced no change in our defensive attitude. We 
well knew that a band of Mexicans, armed as these were, could 
not be other than a hostile party, and bitter too in their hostilitv. 
Eor several weeks past, the petite. guerre had been waged with 
dire vengeance. The neutral ground had been the scene of re- 


GUERRILLEEOS. 


173 


prisals, and terrible_retaliations. On one side, wagon-trains had 
been attacked and captured,, harmless teamsters murdered, or 
mutilated .whilst still alive. I sawjone with his .arms cut off by 
the elbow-joints, his Jieart taken out, and- thrust between his 
teeth ! He was dead ; but another whom I- saw still- lived, with 
the cross- -deeply, gashed upon his breast, upon his brow, on the 
soles of his feet, and the palms of his hands — a horrid; spectacle 
to look upon 1 

On the other side, ranchos were- ransacked and ruined, villages 
given to the dames, and men on mere suspicion., shot down upon 
the spot or . hanged upon the nearest tree ! Such a character 
fead the .war assumed ; and. under these circumstances, we knew 
that the approaching horsemen were our deadly foes. 

Beyond a -doubt, it was -either a scouting party of Mexican 
lancers, a guerilla , or a band of- robbers. During the war, the 
two last were nearly„synonymous, and the first not unfrequently 
partook of thexharacter of both. 

One- thing that puzzled us— what could any of the three be 
doing in that quarter? The- neutral ground — the scene of 
guerilla operations^rlay between the .two armies ; and we were 
now far remote from it ; in Jact,, altogether away from the settle- 
ments. What could have brought lancers,, guerilleros, or rob- 
bers, out upon the plains ? There waa no game in that quarter 
for any of these gentry— neither an American force to be attack- 
ed, nor a. -traveller to be plundered ! My own troop was the 
out-picket in direction, and it was full ^ten miles off. The 
on£y thing likely to be met with near the mesa was a war-party 
of Comauches, and we knew the Mexicans well enough to be con- 
vinced that, whether soldiers or freebooters, they were, not in 
search of- that. 

Suctk reflections, made in double-quick time, occurred to us as 
we scanned the advancing troop. 

Up to this moment, they had ridden directly towards us, and 
were now nearly in a line between us and the mesa. On-getting 


m 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


within about half a mile of our position, they turned sharply to- 
ward the west, and rode as if to make round to our rear 1 This 
manoeuvre of course placed us- upon their flank ; and now, out- 
lined against the sky, we could distinctly trace their forms and 
note their, habiliments and armour. Nearly all wore broad 
brimmed -sombreros, with jacket, sash, and calzoneros. They 
carried lances, lazoes, and carbines or -escopettes. We could dis 
tinguisb-sabres and machetes — the universal weapon of the Mexi- 
can ranchero. They could not be drilled troops. Theircostumes, 
as well as a certain irregularity in their manoeuvring, forbade 
this supposition. Their lances, moreover, were borne in all sorts 
of ways — some couched, some resting in the stirrup and held 
correctly, while others were carried over the shoulder like a fire- 
lock l No, they could not be a troop of regulars They were 
either ir'ierrilleros or true salteadores. 

After riding nearly a half-circle round — still keeping at the 
same distance — the troop suddenly made-front towards us, and 
halted. 

We had been#puzzled by their goingrround ; we could not 
divine their object in so doing. It could not be to cut off our 
retreat. The timber in the back direction was miles off. Had 
it been near enough, we should certainly have retreated to it 
long before ; but we knew it was too- distant. Rube and his 
old mare would have been overtaken by our well-mounted 
enemies, long ere we could have gained the woods; we knew- this, 
and therefore did not think of making the attempt. On the 
other side was the mesa, which, by their late movement had been 
left open to us. It was but a half mile off, aud perhaps, by 
making a dash, we might have, reached it; but not a tree grew 
near it — except those on its summit — and its rocky wall appar- 
ently offered no -advantage to us, any more than the open plain. 
The enemy seemed to be- aware of this, else they would not have 
ridden round, and thus left the way clear. 

Until the moment of their halt, therefore, we remained ignor 


GUERRILLEROS. 


175 


aut of their motive iu moving to our rear; then it was explained. 
TheiruObject was evident to all of us: they had halted between 
us'-and the. sun ! 

It was a cunning manoeuvre, worthy of a war-party of Indians, 
and told us we had no. common, enemy to deal with. By ap- 
proaching us from . that direction, they would have a decided 
advantage ; our. aim would be„spoiled by the -sun — now low down 
upon the horizon, aiuLgleaming right in our eyes. My- compan- 
ions were . wroth— at the„.trick that had been thus played so 
adroitly; though we could not have hindered it even if forewarned. 

We were-allowed -but little time to reflect upon the matter ; 
we.saw.by thev movements of the- horsemen that they were pre- 
paring to-charge. One who appeared to be the.leader, mounted 
upon a larger horse than, any of the rest, was addressing them. 
He..rode along the line speaking in a loud tone, and.gesticulat- 
ing violently; he was answered with vivas , which we could 'plainly 
hear. Every, moment we, looked to see them, gallop forward. 

We. knew there was nat, alternative but fight or surrender, 
though not-one of us entertained an idea of the. latter ; for my- 
self, L-should as soon have thought of turning my pistol to my 
ownJiead. My uniform,, tattered as it was, would easily reveal 
my-character to the enemy ; and, if captured, I knew I should 
be hung, or perhaps in the absence of trees,, shot down upon the 
spot. My comrades had . reasons for knowing that their, shrift 
would be equally short neither thought for a moment of tamely 
yielding. 

“No !” emphatically pronounced -Rube, “this child don't guv 
in, till he's-rubbed out, he don't ! ..Tarnation odds too !" he. add- 
ed, looking towards the troop; “twelve agin three o' us. Durn 
the odds ! I've got.clur o’ wuss scrapes tham't looks, yit, and so 
'Ye you, Bill Garey-^hain't we, boyee ? Durn the odds 1 let 
'em kum on ?" 

“ Ay," responded Garey, without the slightest show of excite- 
ment, “they’d better not come too near^thout tellin thar bisness 


17 6 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


I see one saddle that I’lLerapty the minnit they pass yon weed/ 
And the speaker -indicated a ..bunch of the artemisia plant that 
grew some two hundred paces oflj in the direction of the horse- 
men. 

The- reckless talk of the old trapper, with the contrasted cool 
bearing of his younger companion, had fixed my nerves fully. 
At the first sight of so many adversaries, I was not without some 
misgivings — in fact, I -felt -fear. Such- odds against us — four tu 
one — was fair cause for apprehension. But it was not my first 
fight against large odds, both Indian and Mexican ; and on that 
account I regarded it the* less seriously. 

Notwithstanding the* superiority of our enemy in number, I 
knew we were -not so,, unequal. Unless, shot down by the first 
volley of their carbines and escopette% each of ouf three rifles 
was -sure of its man. I had .confidence in my own w r eapon, and 
a still more perfect .reliance on those of my comrades. They 
were- men that never . missed-^-men who never fired a raudom 
shot — never drew trigger till their aim was sure. I felt-certain, 
therefore, that should the horsemen charge upon us, onl y^nine 
of the twelve would evey come within pistol-shot, and for that 
iistance we were well -prepared. Rcarried in ray belt a six- 
chambered-revolver, one oCUolt’s best ; Garey had. another — a 
present I had- made him many years before — and -Rube was 
armed with a pair of stout-single barrels, like enough to do good 
service. 

it Seventeen shots ! wi’ our dbowies to fall back upon P cried 
Garey triumphantly, as we finished a hasty, survey of our arms. 

As yet the enemy did not advance; notwithstanding their vivas 
and_. ejaculations, they appeared to. hesitate about charging. 
Their-leader, aud another — a lieutenant, perhaps — were stiRseen 
noing along their, lin§, as if animating- them by further speech, 
aud giving them, orders, how to act. 

Meanwhile w we had not been, idle; we had * formed square to 
receive the charge ! You may smile, but such was in, reality the 


THE PAULEY. 


177 


case We had formed ..square — with our, horses ! There were 
four-of them, for the wild horse.counted one. Garey, who- rode 
like a Comanche, hacLbroken him at our last camp, and he was 
now perfectly.tractable. The shake of a lazo rendered him docile 
as a lamb. 

The four were tied Lead to head, and- croup to croup, and each 
formed one side of the square. They could. not have. broken it 
even under a charge of cavalry j bridles must be untied or cut, 
and-Iazoes set loose, before that formation could be destroyed ! 

Within-stood we, fronting-our foes — the large horse of Garey 
forming our barricade — our heads and feet alone visible to the 
enemy. 

Thus did ws await their onset. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

THE PARLE Y. 

Another chorus of vivas announced that the guerrilla chie^- 
had finished his. oration, and that the -attack was about to b» 
made. We saw him, with one or two others, advance in front 
of the line, and head towards us, evidently intending to lead the 
charge. 

“Now !” muttered Rube, in a sharp quick tone, “guns ready, 
boys ! no waste shots, d’ yur hear? Lead counts- hyur-vi£ do. 
See 1 By the jumpin-Geehosophat, thur a gwine to ride right 

down ! Let ’em kum on, and be 1 Thur’s one o’ ’em won’t 

git this fur — I-mout say two — I mout say. three i’deed. Durn 
the-glint o’ thet sun I Billee !” he continued, addressing Garey, 
u ee ’lb-shoot fust;, ynr gun’s furrest carry. Plug the. big un on 

"V* 8* 


ITS 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


the clay-bank Jioss. This child’s for -No. 2 on the grey mustang 
An r young fellur ! ee ’ll jest pick off thet-niggur on the roan. J 
know yur wild cat to the bone, but keep yur eye skinned, and 
yur narves steady, d’ yur hear ?” 

“ Yesy'-yes !” I hurriedly answered, though at the time, steadi- 
ness of nerves was easier_promised than, practised. My heart 
was -heaving in quick*. pulsations at the uear prospect of the terri- 
ble cframa about to be enacted. 

At this moment the “ Forward” fell upon our ears, and with 
the wild notes of the -bugle came the words : 

“ Andela ! anda ! Dios y Guadalupe /” 

In an instant, the -troop was in motion, and pressed forward, 
galloping to the charge. 

They had not made many.stretches before their line became 
broken, several of the swiftest or most. courageous forging ahead 
of the others. 

“ The-three fo’most 1” cried Rube, in the. same sharp tone — 
“the three- fo’most I That’ll fotch 'em up wi’ a roun turn, or 
this child’s mistaken. Now, boyees 1 mind yur eyes I Steady! 
Stea-dy — stea-dy ” 

All at ouce-, Rube’s muttered cautions, slowly drawled out, 
were-changed to an exclamation that betokened-surprise, follow- 
ed by a long low whistle of the same import ! The cause was 
clear. The. guerrilleros had got within .three hundred yards of 
us, stilLgoing at a gallop, but we could perceive that their pace 
slackened as they advanced ; already it was more of an amble, 
than the -Tor ward, dash of an earnest, charge. It was-evident 
they had no stomach, for the business — now that they were near 
enough to see the shining barrels and black hollow tubes of our 
levelled rifles. 

Garey was waiting till the foremost should pass the artemisin 
bush ; for by that he had long since calculated the. point-blank 
range of his rifle. Another moment, and its crack would have 
been heard ; but the horseman, as if warned by instinct, seemed 


THE PAULEY. 


179 


to_divine the exact limit of danger. Before- reaching the bush, 
bis-heart failed him, and in a wavering, irresolute- manner, he 
dre w. bridle, and .halted 1 The others, -nothing loath, followed 
his^ example, until the whole troop had pulled up within less 
tham-three hundred yards of the muzzles of our guns 1 

“Cowed, by — — !” shouted Rube with ar derisive laugh. 
“ Hulloo 1” continued he, raising his voice still louder, and ad- 
dressing the halted line : “what the h-£~ll do ee want, anyhow ?” 

Whether Rube’s ‘interrogatory was understood or not, it 
elicited a reply: 

“Amigos! somos amigos!” (We are friends 1) shouted back 
the leader of the baud. 

“ Friends be, durned 1” exclaimed the trapper, who knew 
enough of Spanish to understand the signification of amigos. 
“ Nice friends you! Wagh ! D’ yur- think to bamfoozle us 
thet away? Keep yur distance now i” continued he, raising 
his rifle in a threatening manner, as a movement was perceptible 
among the horsemen. “ Keep yur distance, or, by the tarnal 
airthquake ! I’ll- plug the -fust o’ ye thet rides within reach. 
Durn such friends as you l” 

The leader now ; „ conversed in a low tone with his lieutenant. 
Some new design seemed to have been devised between them — 
and after a while, the former again addressed us ; speaking as 
before in Spanish. 

“We are -friends I” said he: “ we- mean you no harm. To 
prove* it, I will order. _my men to, fall back upon the prairie, while 
myjieutenant*. unarmed, will meet. one of you on the neutral 
ground. Surely, you can have no objection to that ?” 

“ And why such an arrangement ?” inquired G-arey, who spoke 
Spanish fluently. “ We want nothing oi you . What da you 
want ironies, with all this durn’d fuss ?” 

“X have business with you,” replied the Mexican ; “an dyou, 
sir, in particular. I have something to say to you I don’t wish 
others to hear.” 


130 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


As he^gaid this, the speaker turned his head, and noddecLsignifi- 
cantly towards his own- following. He was candid with them 
at least. 

This .unexpected dialogue took all three of us by ..surprise 
What could the man want with Garey ? Thelatter knew noth 
ing of him — had- never, os he declared, ‘^sot eyes on theniggut 
before Although at such a distance— ^with the sun in his face, 
and the Mexican’s sombrero slouched as it was — Garey might 
bemistaken. It might be some one whom he had met, though 
he could not recall him to mind. 

After a short consultation, we agreed that Garey should ac- 
cept the proposal. No evil could result from it— none that we 
could .think of. Garey could easily get- back, before any attack 
could be made upon him, and Rube and I should still be- ready 
ta protect him with our pieces. If they meditated, treachery, 
we could not perceive the advantage they were to gain from the 
proceeding. 

The “..parley ” therefore was. accepted, and the conditions ar- 
ranged with due caution on our part. The horsemen — with the 
exception of the leader and his -lieutenant— were to ride -back to 
the. distance of half a mile ; the leader was to remain where he 
was ; and half-way between him and us, Garey and the lieuten- 
ant were to-meet, both of them on foot and unarmed. 

At an order from their chief, the guerrilleros fell back. The 
lieutenant dismounted^, laid his lance along the ground, unbuckled 
his sabre, drew the pistols from his belt, and placing them beside 
the lance, advanced towards the appointed spot. 

Garey had likewise disarmed himself; and Jeaving his weapons 
in charge of Rube and myself^ stepped forth to meet the Mexican. 
In another minute, the two stood face to face, and the “ parley” 
began. ’ , 

It was of short duration. The-speaking, which appeared-^' 
be principally_done by the Mexican, was carried on in a low tone; 
and Rube and I saw that he pointed frequently in our direction. 


A DEAD SHOT. 


181 


as if we were thasubject of his discourse ! We -observed that 
his4iarangue was suddenly.interrupted by-Garey, who, turning 
round at the same instant, cried out to us in English: 

“ Hillow v l^he 1 what do yer think the skunk wants ?” 

“ How. shea Iknow ?” replied Rube. “ What dofe want T y 

“Why, ha. wants ” — Garey’s voice rose~louder with indigna- 
tion — “he. wants. .us to give -up the ranger-captain ; an sez, if we 
do, you an me can go free. Ha, ha, ha !” and the young trap- 
per ended his announcement with a scornful laugh. 

Simultaneous with- Garey’s laugh, I could hear Rube utter a 
low. whistle, and the words “thet’s how the stick floats and, 
then raising his voice, he- called out: 

“ An what answer hev you gin him, Billee ?” 

“I hain’t ^answered him yet,” was the prompt reply ; “but 
hyar’s the^answer I” 

Lsaw .Garey’s. arm raised, with his huge fist clenched ; I saw 
itjdescend like a trip-hammer upon the face of the Mexican, who 
with the blow fell heavily to the earth I 


CHAPTER XXX11. 

A DEAD SHOT. 

The unexpected- closing of the conference elicited an angry 
shout from the Mexican horsemen ; and, without waiting for 
orders, they galloped up to their chief. Halting at long range, 
they. fired their carbines and escopettes ; but their bullets cut 
the grass far in front of us, and one or two that hurtled past, 
were wide of the mark. 

The lieutenant, who had been only, stunned, soon recovered 
his legs, but not his temper. His wrath overbalanced his prur 


182 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


deuce, else the moment he found his feet, he would have made 
the best of his way to his horse and comrades. Instead of do- 
ing so, he turned full front towards us, raised his arm in the air, 
shook his clenched hand in a menacing manner, accompanying the 
action with a torrent of defiant speech. Of what he said, we 
understood but the concluding phrase, and that was the bitter 
(uid blasphemous carajo 4. that hissed through his teeth with the 
energetic ^aspiration of rage and revenge. 

That oath was the last word he ever uttered ; his parting 
breath scarcely carried it from his lips^jere he ceased to live. I 
heard the fierce word, and almost simultaneously, the crack of a 
rifle, fired close to my ear. I saw the dust puff out from the 
embroidered spencer of the.Mexican, andjdirectly over hi^-heart ; 
I saw his .hand pass rapidly to the spot, and the next moment he 
fell -forward upon his face I 

Without a groan, without a struggle, he lay as he had fallen, 
spread dead aud motionless upon the prairie ! 

“ Thur, durn yur carako !” cried a voice at my shoulder ; “ee 
won’t Jbid for me agin, ee skunk — thet ee won’t !” 

I needed no explanation, though I turned, involuntarily to the 
speaker. Of course it was Rube. His rifle was smoking at the 
muzzle, and he was proceeding to reload it. 

“ Wa-hoo— rwoop !” continued he, uttering his wild war-cry ; 
“thet .shortens thur.count, I reck’n. Another nick for-Targuts ! 
Gi’me.Aerfor a-gun. W r agh ! a Jong .pull it wur for the ole 
weepun ; and the- glint in my eyes too 1 The niggur riled me, 
or I wudn’t & risked it. Hold yur hosses, boys !” he continued 
in a more earnest tone: “don’t fire till I’m loaded — for yur lives 
don’t 1” 

“ All right, Rube !” cried Garey, who hastily. passing under 
the Jbelly of his horse, had re-entered the square, and once more 
handled his rifle. “ All Tight, old boy 1 Ne’er a fear 1 we ’ll 
wait for ye.” 

Somewhat to our- surprise, Rube was. allowed ample time to 


A DEAD SHOT. 


183 


reload, and our three barrels once more, protruded over the 
shoulders of- Garey’s horse. Our animals still held their respec- 
tive positions. Three of them were toouwelL used to such scenes, 
to be, startled by the detonation of a rifle ; and the fourth, 
fastened as he was, kept his place, perforce. 

I say, to our surprise, we were -allowed- time to get into our 
old. vantage-ground ; for we had -expected an immediate charge 
from the guerrilla. 

Vengeance.for the death of their comrade would give them 
courage enongh for that ; so_thought we ; but we were mistaken, 
as theirjre only, vented itself in fierce yells, violent gestures, and 
loud cries. 

They had clustered around their chief without order or forma- 
tion. They seemed to,pay but slight, regard to his authority. 
Some appeared mrging him to lead them on ! Some came 
galloping .nearer, ancL fired their carbines; others, shook their 
lances in a .threatening manner ; but one and all were, careful to 
keep outside that perilous . circle, whose circumference marked 
the range of our rifles. They seemed even less inclined for close 
quarters than ever ; the fate of their comrade had awed them. 

The-dead man. lay about half-way between them and us, glit- 
tering in his picturesque habiliments. They were. weaker by his 
loss, for. not -only had he been one of their leaders, but one of 
their .best men. They saw he was dead, though, none had dared 
to approach him They knew the Texan rifle of. old — these 
spangledcheroes ; they ,-saw, moreover, that we were.armed with 
revolvers, and the-fame of this-terrihle weapon had been already 
carried beyond the frontier of the-Tiio Grande. 

Notwithstanding- all that, men of^our race, under similar cir- 
cumstances, would have .-charged without^ hesitation. So, too, 
would men of theirs, ..three centuries ago. 

Perhaps in ^that- band was an. Alvarado, a -Sandoval, a Diaz, 
or-Ce Soto I -only in name. CHCortez ! and yoxi»conquistadore'. $ 
could ycu -behold your~degenerate4escendants 1 


1 84 : 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


And yet not all of them were cowards ; some, I dare say, 
were brave enough, for there areJ>rave men among the Mexicans. 
A few were evidently willing to make the ..attack, but they 
wanted ^combination — they wanted a.„ leader: he who acted as 
such appeared to be endowed with more .discretion than valor. 

Meanwhile, we ..kept our .eyes fixed upon them, listening to 
heir varied .cries, and closely watching their movements. In 
perfect, coolness, we regarded them — a % least so much can I say 
for my__comrades. Though- life or.-deatbrested-"Upon the issue, 
both were as cool at that moment as if they had been only ob- 
serving the movements of a gang of buffaloes ! There was no 
sign of. trepidation — hardly a symptom of. excitement visible in 
the countenance of either. Now and then, a half-muttered 
ejaculation, a rapid exchange of- thought, relating to some fresh 
movement of the enemy, alone told that both were alive to the 
peril of the situation. 

I cannot affirm that I shared with them this extreme and per- 
fect -sang froid ; though upon my - nerves, less, indifferent to 
danger, their-example had its. effect, and -inspired me with courage 
sufficient for the occasion. Besides, I drew confidence from an- 
other source. In case of defeat, I had a resource unshared by 
my companions — perhaps ...unthought of by them. Trusting to 
the matchless..,speed of my. horse, as a last resort, I might possi- 
bly, escape. I could have-ridden off at that moment without 
fear of being,.overtaken, but the craven thought was not enter- 
tained for an instant. By my honour, no 1 I should have 
accepted death upon the spot rather than desert the hrave men 
who - stood by my - side. To them. I was indebted for my life. 
’Twas for. me that theirs was now in peril ; and from the first 
moment 1 had determined to stand by them to the. end, and sell 
my blood at its dearest. In the event of both falling before me, 
it would -then be- time to think of flight. 

Even this -contingency had the effect of ..strengthening my 
courage, and at-that -moment I viewed the -vengeful foe with a 


A DEAD SHOT. 


1S5 


kook; 'as and- freedom from fear that, in the retrospect, now sur- 

prises me. 

Dur'ng the interval ot inaction that followed, I was cool enough 
to reflect upon the.demand which the- guerrilla leader had made 
— the-surrendtr of mv-person. Why- was ^singled out? We 
wero»all< enemies ~alike — all -Americans or Texans — on Mexican 
soil, and armed for strife. Why did they want me alone ? Was 
itb.ecause I wasjmperior in rank to my companions ? But how 
knew they^this ? — hew. knew they I was a “ ranger captain V r 
Ha ! they must kav&known it -before ; they must have comig 
out*specially in “search of me ! 

A~iighti flashed- suddenly into my -mind— a suspicion strong 
almost &s certainty. But for the sun glancing in my eyes, I might 
have earlier ^obtained an explanation of the mystery. I drew 
^own the*, visor of my ferage-cap^stretching it to its full extent; 
I increased thejshade with my flattened palms, and from under 
them,strained my eyes upon the- leader of the band. Already 
his-voice, while ill conversation with Garev, had aroused a faint 
recollection. within me. I had heard that voice only once, but I 
thought I. remembered it. Guided by my suspicion, I now 
scrutinized more,, closely the.. face of the man. Fortunately, it 
wasjturned towards me, and despite the dazzling of the sunbeam, 
despite the slouched sombrero, I .recognized the dark - features 
of Rafaek Ijurra ! In that glance I .comprehended the situa- 
tion. He itwvas who wanted the “ ranger captain !” 

There was. doubt no longer. My suspicion was a certainty; 
but with the next, throb of my heart rose another, a. thousand 
times more painful — a. suspicion of 

With an effort, I*stifled my^emotions ; a. movement was pre- 
ceptible, among the guerrilleros ; the . moment of action had 
arrived 1 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


I2G 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

A RUNNING-SHOT. 

Though our enemy was once more in* motion, we no longer 
anticipated a direct attact ; the time for that had passed. The 
fate of their - comrade had evidently- checked their ardor, and 
too much shouting and bravado had cooled, rather than height- 
ened, their enthusiasm. We could^tell by their manoeuvring 
that some new mode of assault had been planued, and was about 
to be practised. 

“ Cowardly-skunks!” muttered Rube ; “ theyfiain’t the pluck 
to .charge us ! W^ho ever dieerd o’ "fair fight in a -Mexikiu ? 
Wagh 1 Thin? arter somcOrick,” he^continued, in a more^serious 
tone. “ What do^4hink it be, Billee ?” 

“ I’m Xhinkin, ofd boy,” replied*- Carey, whose keen grey eye 
had been for some time, fixed -on the movements of the guerrilla 
— “ I’m thinkin -thar a goin to gall up roun, ; an try a shot at us 
Injun fashion.” 

“ Yur right,” assented Rube ; “thet’s thur game ! Scalp me 
ef ’taint I Look yander !-^thur they go !” 

The*horsemen were no-longer in line, nor- formed in any fash- 
ion. Irregularly, grouped, they- exhibited a ‘kfiump ” upon the 
prairie, some standing still, others in motion. As Rube-uttered 
the last words, one of them was seen to shoot out from the main 
body, spurring his steed into a gallop as he parted from the 
crowd. 

One might have fancied he was about to ride off from the 
g*-mnd: but no; that was not his intention. When he-had made 


A RUNNING SHOT. 


187 


half-a-dozerustretches.over the plain, he ^guided his-horse into a 
curve,jevidently with the .design of riding around us. 

As~soon as he had gained some score of- yards-from the-troop, 
a second horseman followed, repeating the manoeuvre ; and then 
another and another, until five of the band, thus deployed, gal- 
loped -round us in circles. The rema.ining.aix kept their ground. 

We observed lhat the. five had left their lances behind them, 
and carried only their -carbines. 

We were not astonished at this : we divined the intention of 
our enemies. They were about to practise an old prairie-tactic 
— ajstratagem of the horse-Indians, with which all three of us 
were familiar. 

We might^have been more apprehensive about the result had 
it been really Indians who were going to practise the manoeuvre 
— since in anattack of this kind, the bow, with its m my missiles 
in a minute, is far more -.dangerous than either carbine or rifle. 
But.. the^fact -that our.assailants„understood the- stratagem told 
us we were*opposed tQ.men who had seen Indian-fight — no doubt, 
the ..pick men of the frontier — and to* defend ourselves would 
require alljhe courage and -cunning we possessed. 

It did mot surprise us that only a portion of the band gallop- 
ed out to. effect the surround ; there wasjlesigp in that, and we 
knew it. Thefive who had been detached were to wheel round 
us in,mrcles r dash at intervals within range r .£re their carbines, 
kill some of our .horses*, keep us distracted, and, if possible, draw 
the fire of our rifles. This purpose effected, the. other six — who 
already approached as near as was safe for them — would charge 
forward, empty their guns, and then use their lazoes with effect. 

Of weapon my companions had more,* dread than of 

all the others carried by our foes. They had reason. They 
knew that , our jdfles oncQ .empty, the.Jazo could be., used, beyond 
pistol-range ; and . by-such men, with far surer aim than either 
carbine or^scopette ! 

We were allowed but scant time to entertain these doubts, 


188 


THE WAK-TBA.IL. 


fears, and conjectures, or to- communicate them to one another 
Theyqmssed before us like the, lightning’s flash : the quicker 
that they, were old .thoughts— things familiar from-experience 
We were .conscious that the stratagem of our enemy bad increas- 
ed the peril of our situation ; but wa.thought nojb yet of yielding 
to despair. 

In an instant we had altered our. relative positions. The three 
of us no-longet fronted in -xme direction, but stood back to back 
— each to .guard the third of the circle before his face. Thus 
stood w 7 e, rifles in hand. 

The-five horsemen were not. slow in the execution of their 
manoeuvre. Once or. twice they galloped round us in a wide 
circle ; and then -following a spiral curve, drew nearer and 
nearer. When withimcarbine range, each fired his. piece ; and, 
retreating outwards upon the main body, hastily exchanged his 
empty gun for one that was loaded, and galloped back as before. 

In the first volley, most of their bullets, discharged at random, 
had passed over our heads. We heard them hissing in the air 
high above us. One, however, had been better aimed, and struck 
Rube’s, mare in the hip, causing the old mustang to squeal and 
kick violently. It did but little damage, though it was an 
earnest of what we might .expect ; and it was with increased 
apprehension that we saw the horsemen come back on their cir- 
cling career. 

You will wonder why we did not return their fire ? Our guns 
carried as far as theirs. Why did we not use them, while the 
horsemen were within range f Not one of the three of us 
thought of drawing a trigger ! You will wonder at this ? It 
equires explanation. 

Know, then, that the, five men who galloped round us were 
five of the , best horsemen in the world — no doubt the picked 
riders of the band. Not in Arabia, not in the -hippodromes of 
Paris or. .London, could they have found their^superiors — perhaps 
not their equals, for these men literally lived/>the saddle. Eaclj, 


A RUNNING SHOT. 


1S9 


an ho approached the dangerous- circle covered by our rifles, dis- 
appeared -behvu c th*. body of his horse. A boot and spur over the 
hollow of the deep- saddle-tree,- perhaps a hand grasping the 
witherdoc^’ of the horsb, were -all of the rider that could be seen. 
Presently a face might be observed, suddenly veiled by a puff of 
smoke from the carbine,, and then ducked instantly out of sight. 
Perhaps the barrel of the piece might be noticed glancing along 
the horse’s counter, while the stream of fire pouring forth, told 
that the rider had taken aim under the throat of his steed, the 
latter all the while going at full gallop. 

During these manoeuvres, sharp shots as my comrades were, 
and fair marksman as*I was myself, there was noinstant when 
we coukLhave hit any one of the five horsemen. It would have 
been easier to have brought down a bird upon the wing. Their 
horses we might have killed or crippled, but. that would not have 
repaid jxs for the risk of an empty rifle. We dared not waste a 
bullet on the horses. This,. then, was our-reason for reserving 
our fire. 

Do noP fancy from this my prolixity of explanation, that we 
were so-slow in comprehending all this. No fc we-understood our 
situation .well enough ; weknew r that ta discharge our pieces — 
cvem though ahorse should fail to every shot — was just what 
the enemy, desired. That was the main point of their ruse ; but 
w r e were too .well used to the wiles of Indian warfare to be be- 
guiled by so .shallow an artifice. Words of caution passed be-^ 
tween us, and we.stood to our guns with as much patience as ve 
could command. 

It was .tempting enough — provoking, I should rather say — 
thus to be -fired at, without the chance of returning it ; and my 
companions, notwithstanding their habitual, coolness, chafed 
angrily under the infliction. 

Once more theiive horsemen came. galloping, around us, and 
discharged their pieces as before; but this time with more effect. 
A bullet struck Garey in the shoulder,. tearing away a patch of 


190 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


his -hunting-shirt, and drawing the blood ; while another went - 
whizzing past the cheek of Old Rube, creasing his eatskin cap 1 

“ Hooray 1” shouted the latter, clapping his hand over the 
place where the lead had wounded him. “ Clost- enough thet 
wur 1 Cuss me, ef’t-hain’t carried away one o' my ears l” 

And the old trapper accompanied the remark with a wild, 
reckless laugh. The rent of the bullet, and the blood upon Gar- 
ey’s shoulder, now fell under his eye, and suddenly changing 
countenance, he exclaimed ; 

“ By the tarnal ! yur hit, Bill ? Speak, boyee ?” 

“ It’s nothin,” promptly replied Garey — “nothin; only a 
grease. I don’t feel it.” 

“ Yur sure ?” 

“ Sartin sure.” 

“ By the livin catamount 1” exclaimed Rube, in a serious tone, 

44 we can’t-stan this no longer. What’s to be done, Billee ? 
Think, boy!” 

“We must make a burst for it,” replied Garey; “it’s, our 
only nhance.” 

“ Tur no use,” said Rube, with a doubtful shake of the head. 
44 The young fellur mout git clur ; but for you’n me thur’s not 
the shaddy^ o’ a -chance. They’d-catch up wi’ the ole mar in the, 
flappin o’ a beaver’s tail, an .yur hoss ain’t, noue o’ the soopjest. 
Tur no use.” 

44 1 tell you it are, Rube,” replied Garey impatiently. “ You 
mount the white hoss — lie’s fast enough — and let the mar slide; 
or you take mine, an I’ll back whitey. We mayentget clar al- 
together ; but we’ll string the niggers. out on theparairy, an take 
them one arter another. It’s better than stanuin hyar to be shot 
down like buffler in a pen. What do -you think, capt’n ?” add- 
ed he, addressing himself to me. 

Just then an idea had occurred to me. “ Why not , gallop 
to tke_cliff ?” I inquired, looking toward the mesa: “"thy^can’t 
surround us there ? With our backs to the rock, and our horses 


A RUNNING SHOT. 


191 


in front of us, we» may defy the rabble. We might easily reach 
it by a dash ” 

“ Scalp me ! ef the young. fellur ain’t right,” cried Rube, in- 
terrupting my speech. “ It’s the very idee, plum centre 1” 

" It are !” echoecL Garey — “ it- are I We hain’t a second to 
lose ; they’ll be round us again in a squull’s jump. Look f on- 
der 1” s . 

This conversation had occupied but a few seconds of time. It 
occurred just after the five horsemen had the second time emptied 
their guns, and galloped back to exchange them. Before they 
could jreturn to deliver a^. third fire, our determination was taken, 
and we had -hastily undone the fastenings of our horses, and 
were ready to mount. This we . accomplished so-quietly, that it 
was evident the , enemy had noLperceived us, ancL therefore en- 
tertained no suspicion of our design; hence the road towards the 
mesa was still perfectly open to us. In another minute, however, 
the-five riders would have been circling around us, and that 
would have naturally altered our situation. 

“ Hurry,. Rube !” cried Garey-^“ hurry, man, and le’s be off 1” 

“Keep, cool, Billee,” rejoined Rube, who was adjusting the 
bridle of Garey’s horse. “ Plenty o’ time, I tell ee; they .ain’t a 
comiq yit. Ho-hoo! ole gal!” he continued, addressing himself 
to the mare — “ ho-hoo ! we’re a gwine to leave you ahint a bit, 
£ut I jreck’n yo’il.turn up agin. They won’t eat ye, anyhow ; so 
clon’t be-skeart about -thet, ole gal ! Now, Billee, I’m ready.” 

It was time, for the riders were again .spurring forward to 
surround us. 

Without-waiting to observe further, we all three leaped simul- 
taneously on horseback ; and, plying the. spur deeply, shot off iu 
a direct line for the mesa. 

A glance behind^howed us the. guerrilleros — the whole band 
coming in full tilt after us, while their cries sounded in our ears. 
To our ^satisfaction, we saw we had gained ground upon them— 
our sudden start having taken them by surprise, and produced 


192 


THE WAR-TKA T L. 


in their ranks a momentary hesitation. We had no. fear of being 
able tq reach the me^a before they could overtake us. 

For my. own part, X could soon have ridden out of sight alto- 
gether ; so could Garey, mounted on the white steed, that, with 
only a raw-hide halter, was behaving splendidly. It was Garey’s 
own horse, a strong but slow brute, that delayed us; he was 
ridden by Rube; and it was well the chase was not to be along 
one, else our pursuers would have easily overhauled him. Garey 
and I kept by his side. 

“ Don’t be afeerd, Rube l” shouted Garey, in a tone of en- 
couragement ; “we ain’t a goin to leave you — we’ll stick the- 
gither 1” 

“ Yes r ” added I, in the excitement of the moment, “ we live or 
die together 1” 

“ Hooray, young fellur !” cried Rube, in a burst of wild-grati- 
tude — “hooray for you ! I know yur the stuff, au won’t leave 
me'aliint, though 1 gin you the slip oncest-- when you mistuk me 
for the grizzly. He, he, hoo 1 But then, yon. see twurno use 
o’ my-stiekiu ta you— ne’er a bit o’-good. Wagh * them niggurs 
nr gettimniglier I” 

We were, riding directly for the middle of the mesa, whose 
cliff, like a vast wall, rose up from the level plain. We headed 
for its central pari, as though we expected some gate to open in 
the rock and.give us shelter ! 

Shouts ofastonishment could be~ heard mingling with the hoof- 
strokes. Some of the expressions we heard. distinctly. “ Whith- 
er ^.go they?” “ Vaya ! do they.intend to ride up the cliff ?” 
“ Carrambo ! van en la tramjpa /” (Good 1 they are going into 
the trap !) 

Shouts of exultatiomfollowed, as they saw us thus voluntarily 
placing ourselves in a position from which, retreat appeared im- 
possible. 

They had been apprehensive, on our first galloping off, that we 
might be- mounted on swift horses, and meditated escaping by 


rube’s chargee. 


193 


speed ; but on. discovering that this was not our intentiou, cries 
of joyful import were. heard ; and as we approached the cliff, we 
saw them deploying, behind us, with the*desigu of hemming us in. 
It was .just the jmoveraent we had anticipated, and the very thing 
we -wished .them to do. 

We galloped up close to the rocky wall before drawing bridle; 
then* suddenly flinging ourselves to the ground, we placed our 
backs to the diff, drew our horses in front of us, and -holding the 
bridles in our. teeth, raised our rifles towards the foe. Once 
more the three shinning tubes were levelled, promising certain 
death to the first who should approach within range. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 
rube’s charger. 

Our attitude of defence, thus suddenly assumed, produced a 
quick effect upon our pursuers, who pulled up simultaneously on 
the prairie. Some who had been foremost, and who fancied they 
had ridden too near, wheeled round and galloped* back* 

“ Wagh !” ejaculated Rube ; “jest look at ’em ! they’ve tuk 
t care to put plenty o’ paraira atweeu our guns and thur cowardly 
karhidges. Wagh 1” 

We at once perceived thejidvantageof our new position. We 
could alL..three_ show front wherever the enemy threatened. 
There was no, longer any danger of their practising the -surround. 
The half-circle behind us was covered by the mesa, and that 
coulcLnot be scaled. We had only to guard the. semicircle in 
front — iuAact fs less than a semicircle, for we now perceived that 
the place was embayed, a sort of -re-entering angle formed by two 
obliqueufaces of the cliff. The walls that flanked it extended 

9 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


194 

tnree hundred yards on either side, so that no .cover commanded 
our position. For defence, we could not have chosen a better 
situation ; .gallop round as they might, thaguerrilleros would al 
ways .find us with our teeth towards them ! We- saw our ad- 
vantage at a glance. 

Neither~were our enemies slow to perceive it, and their exult 
ing shouts changed to exclamation that betokened their disap 
pointment. 

Almost as suddenly, their.- tone again, cnanged, and cries ot 
triumph once more rose along their line. 

We lookedforth to discover the cause. To our dismay, we 
perceived a-reinforcement just~joining them 1 - Five fresh- horse- 
men were --riding up, evidently apportion of the band. They 
appeared to have come from behind the mesa — from the direction 
of the-rancheria^-though, as we galloped forward, we had not 
observed them : the mound had concealed them from our view. 
Notwithstanding this accession to their strength, their courage 
did not appear to gain by it. 

Almost on the instant that their new allies arrived upon the 
ground, the -troop filed of by twos, and deployed across the mouth 
of the little bay in which we had taken shelter. The movement 
was soon completed, and six pair* oFtliem were now ranged be- 
fore us art, equal -distances-from each other. The remaining three 
— VTjurra and-two .others— vkept their, .places directly in frout of 
us. In one of the latter I recognized a ruffian whom I had fre- 
quently noticed at the ranchera. He was a man of large size, 
and, what is rare among Mexicans, red haired ; but I believe he 
was a,- Vizcaino. He was familiarly known by the sobriquet of 
El Zorro (the Fox), probably on account of the hue of his hair; 
and I had heard from goodauthority — that of th vnlealde himself ' 
— that thei-fellow was. neither more nor less than a salteador. 
Indeed^El Zorro made little- secret of his calling. The- brigand 
of Mexico is usually well-known to his .countrymen. During 
his intervals of leisure, he appears in the populous town, walks 


rube’s charger. 


195 


boldly through the streets, and freely mingles in society. Suc\ 
was El Zorro, one of the right-hand men of Ijurra. 

The„design of our.jenemy was now-manifest : they had no inten 
tion of making an immediate attack upon us; they saw that our 
retreat was impossible, and had resolved to hold us in siege, 
perhaps till thirst and hunger should force us to surrender. 

Their calculation was founded on, probability. If their valour 
was weak, their cunning wa&atrong and subtile. 

Rube was now greatly “out of sorts” When he saw the 
guerrilleros “fixing” themselves in the manner described, he 
seemed to regret that we had taken our stand there. 

“ A^eVr li'yiirT” he exclaimed peevishly, “ an how ar we to git 
cliir agin ? Scalp, me, Bill 1 ef we~bedn’t better a fit ’em on the 
paraira, an afore we gits weak wi’ hunger. Wagh ! I kud eat a 
griskin- now, ana good-chunk o’ a one. Ay, smoke away!” 
(some of the Mexicans had lighted their cigars, and were coolly 
puffing at them) — “smoke away, durn yur ! yur yeller-skinned 
skunks ! Ill make some o’ ye smoke afore mornin, or ray name 
ain’t Rube Rawlins. Gi’s a bit o’ bacca, Bill ; maybe it’ll take 
the edge off o’ my stummuk. Wagh ! I feel as holler about the 
kidneys as my ole mar v Geehosophat ! See the mafi£” 

The emphatic«u Iterance of the last words caused Garey and 
myself to look towards the speaker, and then in the direction in 
which he pointed. A, scene came before our eyes, that, spite the 
depression of our spirits, caused both of us to break into loud 
laughter. 

The “ ole mar,” that for many long years had carried Rube 
over the mountains and prairies, was a creature that scarce 
yielded to himself in peculiarity. 

She was a. lank, bare-ribbed, high-boned animal, long-eared 
likejdl of her race, for she .belonged to the race of Rosinante. 
TheJong ears caused her to look mulish, and at a distance she 
might have been mistaken for a mixed breed ; but it was not so 
— she was a true mustang, and, spite of heisdegenerate look, a 


196 


THE WAE-TKAIL. 


pure Andalusian. She seemed to have been, at an earlier period 
of her life, of that dun yellowish colour known as 11 clay bank” — 
a common hue among Mexican horses; but time and scars had 
metamorphosed her, and gray hairs predominated, particularly 
about the head and neck. These parts were covered with a dirty 
grizzle ofunixed colour. She was badly^jsvind-broken, and at 
stated, intervals, of several minutes each, her back, from the 
spasmodic- action of the lungs, heaved up with a jerk, as though 
she was trying to kick, and couldn’t. Heivbody was as thin as 
a. rail, and her head habitually carried below the level of her 
shoulders ; but dhere was -something in the twinkle of her soli- 
tary. eye— for she hatUbuWme — thatAold you she had no inten- 
tion of, giving up for a long time to come. As Rube often 
alleged, u she was game to the backbone. 

Such was the “.ole mar,” and it was to her that our attention 
was now so suddenly called. 

Having .parted from her on the prairie, in the- wild gallop that 
followed, we had-thought no. more of the creature, not caring — 
that is, Garey and myself — what-became of- her. Rube^ how- 
ever, was far from, sharing our indifference as to her fate. He 
would almost as soon have parted with one of his “ claws ” as 
thataame faithful -companion, and we hachheard him expressing 
his -hopes that no harm would come to her. 

Of course,, we had concluded that she would either be shot or 
lazoed by one of the guerrilleros. It appeared, however, that 
this was not to be her fate just then. Resolving not to be 
parted from her master so easily, she had galloped after us. Be- 
ing slow, she soon fell behind, and for a while was mixed up with 
the horses of the guerrilleros. Of-course the men had noticed 
her, but seeing that she was a worthless brute, had not deigned 
to make a capture of her. 

In due time she fell into the rear of the wholedroop ; but even 
that^did not turn her. from her original intention, and- at the 
moment of -Rube’s exclamation, she was jest breaking through 


rube’s charger. 


197 


the line of deployment on her way to join him. From the man- 
ner in which her nose was . held as she ran, she appeared to be 
trailing him by ihe scent. 

Seeing her pass, one of the guerrilleros dashed after to capture 
her ; perhaps because there was an old saddle with some of 
Rube’s traps buckled upon it. Mare, saddle, and all, were 
scarcely worth the fling of a lazo, and so the man appeared to 
think; for instead of using his lazo, he rode forward with the in- 
tention of seizing the mare by the bridle. 

The^ feat proved not so easy of accomplishment. As the fel- 
low bent down to grasp the rein, the old mare uttered one of 
her wild squeals, slewed her hind-quarters about, and raising her 
heels high in the air, delivered them right upon the ribs of the 
Mexican. The heavy thud ” was heard by all of us ; and the 
man-swayed from his -saddle, and fell to the ground — to all ap- 
pearance badly- hurt, and most- probably with a pair of broken 
ribs. 

The squeal of the, . mare was echoed by a shrill laugh from the 
throat of her delighted master ; and not until she had galloped 
up to . him, did he -cease to made the rocks ring with his wild 
eachinnations. 

“ Wa-hoo — woop ! yur thur, ole gal !” he shouted as the ani- 
mal halted before him. “ You gin ’im a .sockdolloger — you did. 
Yeeup 1 olehlueskin ! yuF welkum back ! an ye’ve fotched my 
saddle, too ! Hooray ! Ain’t she a beauty, Bill ? She’s , wuth 
her weight in beaver-ple w. Wagh 1 that ’ee ur, ole beeswax! 
Kum. hyur this, away — thur now !” 

And the speaker proceeded, after some more apostrophizing, 
to draw the animal closer up to the-cliff, placing her body as an 
additional barricade ip front of his own. 

Our involuntary- mirth was of short duration ; it was interrupt 
ed by an object that filled our, hearts with new^ apprehension. 


19S 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

EL ZORRO 

The new object of dread was a large- gun, which Lad been 
brought upon the-ground by~one of ttfose -lately arrived. In all 
probability, it belonged to . El Zorro, as it was in his hands we 
first observed it. It appeared to be a Jong musket, or elephant- 
gun, -such as the “roers” in use among South African hunters. 
Whatever sort of weapon it was, we soon found, to our annoyance, 
that it pitched an ounce of lead nearly twice as far as any of our 
rifles, and with sufficient precision to make it probable that, be> 
fore the ^un had set, El Zorro would be able to pick off our 
horses, and perhaps ourselves, in detail. It would be half an 
hour before darkness could. screen us with its friendly shelter, 
and he had already commenced -practice. His first shot *had 
bei-n Jired. The bullet struck the cliff close to my own head, 
scattering the fragments of gypsum rock about my ears, and 
then fell,- flattened like a Spanish dollar, at my feet. 

The report was far louder than that of either carbine or es*- 
copette ; and an ejaculation from Rube, as he saw the effect of 
the shot, followed by his usual ominous whistle, told that the 
old trapper was not disposed to make light of this new piece of 
ordnance. Neither was Garey. His look testified to what all 
three of us were thinking-— which was, that this mode of attack 
was likely to put us in a more awkward dilemma than we - had 
yet been, placed in. El Zorro might shoot us- down at his. leisure. 
With our .rifles, we could -neither answer his fire, nor silence it, 
Our peril was-obvious. 

The salteador had delivered his first shot “off hand,” for wo 


EL ZOKKO. 


199 


Lad seen-him level the piece. Perhaps it waadortunate for us 
he had not taken aim over a “lean;” but** fortune from that 
source was not going to favour us any farther ; for we now ob* 
served.Jjurra stick two lances obliquely in the ground, so as to 
cross each other at a. proper height, thus forming as perfect a 
rest as marksman could have* desired. 

As soon as the gun was reloaded, El Zorro knelt behind the 
lances, placed his barrel in the fork, and once more took aim. 

I felt satisfied he was aiming at me, or my horse. Indeed, the 
direction of the long dark tube would have told me so; but I saw 
Ijurra directing him, and that made me sure of it. I had little 
fear for myself. I was sheltered sufficiently, but I trembled for 
the brave horse that shielded me. 

I waited with anxious heart. I saw the blaze of the priming 
as it puffed upward ; the red flame projected from the muzzle, 
and simultaneously I felt the. shock of the heavy bullet striking 
upon my horse. Splinters of wood flew about my face ; they 
were fragments of the saddle-tree. The ball had passed through 
the pommel, but my noble^steed was. untouched ! It was a close 
shot, however — tooxlose to allow of rejoicing, so long as others 
of the like were to follow. 

I was getting as “ riled ” as Rube himself, when, all at once, 
a significant, shout from the old trapper drew my attention from 
El Zorro and his gun. Rube was on my right, and I saw that 
fie was pointing along the bottom of the cliff to some object in 
that direction. I could not see what it was, as hisffiorses were 
in the way ; but the next moment I observed him hurrying them 
along the~cliff, at the same time calling to. Garey and myself to 
follow. 

I lost no time in putting my horse in motion, and Garey as 
hastily trotted after. 

We had not advanced many paces before we comprehended 
the strange behaviour of our companion. 

Scarcely twenty yards from where we had first halted, a large 


200 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


rock rested upon the plain. It was a fragment that had fallen 
from the cliff, and was now lying several feet from its base ; it 
was of such size, and in such a position, that there was. ample 
space behind it to shelter both men and horses-^room for us all! 

We were only astonished we had not observed it sooner ; but 
this was not to be wondered at, for its colour corresponded ex- 
actly with that of the cliff, and it was difficult, even at twenty 
yards 7 distance, to distinguish it from the latter. Besides, our 
eyes, from the moment of our halting, had been turned in ano- 
ther direction. 

We did not stay to give words to our surprise ; but hurrying 
our horses along with us, with joyful exclamations we glided be- 
hind the rock. 

It was not an echo of our-joy, but a cry of disappointed rage 
that pealed along the line of the guerrilla. They saw at'Onc<£ 
that their long gun would no longer avail them, and both Ijurra 
and his marksmen were now seen dancing over the ground like 
madmen. El Zorro’s metier was at an end. 

A more perfect “ harbour of refuge ” could not have been 
found in all prairie-land. As Garey alleged, it “ beat tree-tim- 
ber all hollow 1” A little fortress, in fact, in which we might 
defy even twice the number of our assailants — unless, indeed, 
they should wax desperately brave, and try us hand to hand. 

Our sudden. disappearance had created a new sensation in their 
ranks. From their shouts, we could tell that some of them re- 
garded it with feelings of wonder — perhaps with emotions of a 
still stronger kind. We could hear the exclamations “ Carroi ! n 
41 Carrambo !” with the phrase “ los demonios /” passing from 
mouth tamouth. Indeed, from the position which they occupied, 
it must have appeared to them that we had gone into the cliff' ! 
The separation of the rock from the wall behind it was notper* 
ceptiblefrom the plain, else we should have perceived it as we 
rode forward. 

If our enemies knew of this out-lying boulder, it was-strange 


EL ZOREO. 


203 


they had left the way open to so safe a retreat— strange, since it 
did not correspond with the cunning they had otherwise given 
proofs of — and yet stranger they should be ignorant of its exis- 
tance. Most of them were natives of this frontier, and must 
have frequently .visited the mesa, which was one of the “ lions ” 
of the district. Perhaps they had never troubled their thoughts 
about it. There is no people who takes less interest in the 
rare features of their beautiful country than the Mexicans. 
Nature charms them not. A Mexican dwelling with a garden 
around it is a rarity — a lawn or a shrubbery is never seen ; but 
indeed nature has bounteously supplied them with all these. 
They dwell amidst scenes of picturesque beauty ; they gaze 
over green savannas — down into deep barrancas — up to the 
snow-crowned summits of mighty mountains — without experienc- 
ing one emotion of the sublime. A- tortured bull, a steel-galved 
cock, Roman candles, and the Chinese wheel, are to them the 
sights of superior interest, and furnish the^m with all their petty 
emotions. So is it with nations, as with men who have passed 
the age of their strength, and reached the period of senility and 
second-childhood. 

But there was another and perhaps a better, reason why none 
of our adversaries should be intimate with the locality. As my 
companions alleged, the spot was a favorite halting-place of the 
Comanches -— they have an eye for the picturesque — but perhaps 
the existence of a spring that was near had more to do in guid- 
ing the preference of these “ lords of the prairies.” The mesa, 
therefore, had for. years been dangerous ground, and little trod- 
den by the idle curious. Possibly not. one of the heroes we saw 
before us had for years ventured so far out upon the plains. 


202 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


CHAPTER XXXV 1 

A PLAN OF ESCAPE. 

If our enemies were awed by our sudden disappearance, it was 
soon robbed of its mysterious character. Our faces, and the 
dark barrels of our rifles, visible around the edges of the white 
rock, must have dispelled all ideas of the supernatural. Having 
hastily disposed of our horses, we had placed ourselves thus — in 
case of a charge being made — though of this we had no longer 
any great apprehension ; aud still less as we watched the move- 
ments of our adversaries. 

El Zorro continued for some time to fire his big gun — the 
bullets of which we could dodge as easily as if they had been 
turnips hurled at us- — and the leaden missiles fell harmlessly at 
our feet. Seeing this, the salteador at leugth ceased firing, aud 
with another, rode off in the direction of the settlements, no 
doubt on some errand. 

One pair of eyes was sufficient to watch the movements of the 
besiegers. Garey undertook this duty, leaving Rube and myself 
free to think over some plan of escape. 

That we were- not to be attacked was now certain. We had 
the choice, then, of two alternatives— either to keep the position 
we were in till thirst should force us to surrender, or attack 
them , and by a bold coup cut our way through their line. As to 
the -former, we well knew that thirst would soon compel us to 
yield. Hunger we dreaded not. We iiad our knives, and before 
us a plentiful stock of that food on which the prairie wanderer 
often sustains life. “ Horse-beef ” we had all eaten, and could 
do so again ; but for the sister appetite— thirst — we had made 


A PLAN OF ESCAPE. 


203 


no provision. Our gourd-canteens were- empty — had been empty 
for hours — we were actually pushing for the mesa spring when 
the enemy first came in sight. We were, then athirst ; but the 
excitement of the skirmish, with the play of passion incident 
thereto, had augmented the appetite, and already were we a 
prey to its keenest pangs. We mumbled as we talked, for each 
of us was chewing the leaden bullet. Thirst, then, we dreaded 
even more than our armed enemy. 

The other alternative was a desperate one — now more desper- 
ate than ever, from the increased number of our foes. To cut 
our way through them had no other- signification than to fight 
the whole party hand to hand ; and we regretted we had not 
done so when only eleven were opposed to us. 

A little xeflection, however r convinced us that we were in a 
yet better position. We could make the attempt in thedarkness. 
Night would favour us to some extent. Could we succeed by a 
bold dash in breaking through their deployed line, we might es- 
cape under the friendly cover of darknesSj and the confusion 
consequent upon the melee. 

There was probability in this. The boldest was clearly the 
wisest-course we could pursue. Desperate it appeared. One or 
other of us might fall, but it offered the only hope that any of 
us might get free, for we knew that to surrender was to be shot 
— perhaps worse— ^tortured. 

We had but Jain t hopes of a .rescue, so faint, tve scarcely 
entertained them. I knew that my friends, the rangers, would 
be in search of me. Wheatley and -Holingsworth would not give 
me up without making an -effort for my recovery ; but then the 
search would be made in a different direction — that in which I 
had gone, and which lay many miles from the route by the mesa. 
Even had they thought of sending to the mound, the search must 
have been already made, and thet party -returned from it. Too 
long-time had elapsed to. make any. calculation on a chance, like 
this. The hope was not worth -holding, and we heM it not. 


204 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


For some time, Rube and I thought in combination, canvas* 
ing the details of the plan that had offered. After a while we 
stood, apart, and each pursued the train of his own reflections. 

I declare that in. that hour I had more painful thoughts than 
those that sprung from the peril of my situation ; this I solemnly 
declare. 

I have already said, that when I first recognized the leader ol 
the guerrilla, I experienced an unpleasantsuspicion. Since then, 
I had not time to dwell upon it— self-preservation engrossing all 
my thoughts. Now, that I found more leisure for reflection, the 
dire doubt returned in full strength, and I bitterly pondered upon 
it. Need P name the subject of my wretched reflections ? Isolina 
de Vargas ! 

Knew^e of -this ? Knew she that Ijurra was the chief of a 
guerrilla ? Her— cousin—^sharer of the .same roof — she could 
scarcely be ignorant of it ! Who^set him- on our trail? Oh, 
bitter thought 1 was the hunt of the wild-horse a ruse — a-6cheme 
— to separate me from my command, and thus-render it an easier 
prey to the Mexican guerrilleros ? Perhaps my straggling fol- 
lowers, were by this cut off ? Perhaps the post had been, attack- 
ed by a large body of the enemy-*— captured ? I was not only 
to lose life, but had already lost my- honor. I, the proud cap- 
tain of a boasted troop, to be thus entrapped by- artifice — the 
artifice of a woman 1 

My heart, overwhelmed with such bitter fancies, stayed not 
to- reason. 

Presently followed a calmer interval, and I begun to discuss 
the probability of my suspicions. What motive could she have 
to- plot my destruction ? Surely not from any feeling of love 
for her country, and hatred towards its enemies ? From all I 
h.ad learned, no such sentiment existed in her mind, but rather 
an opposite one — a truer patriotism. She was a. woman of suf- 
ficient aim and- intellect to have a feeling one way or the other : 
but had I not good grounds for believing her a friend to cjui 


A TLAN OF ESCAPE. 


205 


cause ; a foe to the tyrants we would conquer ? If otherwise, I 
was the victim of profound deception and unparalleled. hypocrisy ) 

Perhaps, however, her feeling was personal, not national. 
Was I alone the object of her hatred ? Had I done aught by 
word or deed to call forth her antagonism — to deserve such cruel 
vengeance ? If so, I was sadly ignorant of the fact. If she 
hated me, she hated one who loved her , with his whole soul ab- 
sorbed in the passion. But no, I could not think that I was an 
objvct of hatred to her. Why should she hate me ? How could 
she ? 

I could think of but-one. motive why she should make herself 
instrumental in the accomplishment of my ruin. It was„ explica- 
ble -Only on the presumption that she was^attached to ijurra — 
that Rafael Ijurra was the lord of her heart. If so, he could 
easily bend it to his will — for this is but the sequence of the 
other — could Influence her to whatever act. 

As for Ijurra, there was motive enough for his hostility, even 
to the seekiug of my life. The insult put upon him at our first 
meeting — the knowledge that Bloved her — for I was certain he 
knew it — with the additional- fact that I was an enemy — one of 
the invaders — of his country. These were sufficient motives 
though, doubtless, the two first far outweighed the other: with 
Rafael Ijurra, revenge and jealousy were stronger passions than 
patriotism. 

Then came consolation — thoughts of brighter hue. In the 
face of all was the fact, that the white steed had been found , and 
captured ! There stood the beautiful creature before my eyes. 
There was no deception in that — thefe could be none — no-scheme 
could have contrived a contingency so remarkable. 

Ijurra might easily have known of the expedition without her 
agency. Its result he would have learned from the returned 
vaqueros. He had, time enough then to collect his* band, and 
set-after me. Perhaps she even knew not that he was a leader 
of guerrilleros ? I had heard that his movements were shrouded 


206 


THE WAR- TRAIL. 


in mystery — that mystery which, covers tne-jdesigns of the ad 
venturer. He had served in the. school of Antonio Lopez de 
Sauta-Anna — tit-master of deception. Isolina might be-innocent 
even of the-knowledge of his acts. 

I -re-read Isolina’s letter,., weighing every word. Strange 
epistle, but -natural to the spirit that had dictated it. In its 
pages I could trace no evidence of treason. No ; Isolina was 
loyal — she was true 1 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

ELIJAH QUACKENBOSS. 

While these -re flections were passing through my mind, I was 
standing, or rather leaning, with my back against the boulder, 
and my face towards the wall of the mesa. Directly in front of 
me was access or indentation in the cliff, carried groove-like 
upward, and,. deepening as it approached the summit, it was a 
slight gorge or furrow, evidently formed by the* attrition of water, 
and probably the conduit of the rain that fell upon the table 
surface of the mound. 

Though the. cliffs on each side were perfectly vertical, the 
gorge had a considerable inclination ; and the instant my eyes 
rested upon it, it occurred to me that the precipice at this point 
could be-scaled 1 

IJp to this moment, I had not thought of such a thing ; for I 
had been- under the impression — from, what my companions had 
told me — that the summit of the mesa was. inaccessible. 

Rousing myself to more energetic observation, I scrutinized 
thc~cliff from base to summit ; and the more I regarded it, the 
stronger grew my.conviction th^t, without great difficulty; an 


ELIJAH QUACKENBOSS. 


207 


fa. U/e climber might reach the.top. There were knob-lika pro- 
tuberances on the rock that would serve as-footholds, and here 
aud there, jgmalL bushes of the trailing cedar hung out from the 
seams, that would materially-assist any one making the ascent. 

While scanning these peculiarities, I was startled by observing 
several abrasions on the face of the rock. These, marks appeared 
quite, fresh, and evidently made by some other agency than that 
of the elements. 

After a short examination, I became convinced that they 
were marks made by a, human foot — the, scratches of a strong- 
soled shoe. Beyond a doubt, the cliff had been scaled ! 

My first- impulse was to communicate thn discovery to my 
companions ; but I forebore for a while — in order to satisfy my- 
self that the- person who had made this daring attempt had ac- 
tually succeeded in reaching the summit. 

Twilight was on, and I could get only an indistinct view of 
the gorge at its upper part, but I saw enough to convince me 
that the attempt had been successful. 

What bold fellow had ventured this ?' and with what object ? 
were the questions I naturally asked myself. 

* Yague recollections were stirring within me ; presently they 
grew more- distinct, and all at once I was able to answer both 
the interrogatories I had put. I knew the man who had -climbed 
thatcliff. I only wondered I had not thought of him before ! 

Among the many odd-characters in the-piebald band, of which 
I had the- honour to be chief, not the least, odd was one who an- 
swered to the euphonious name of “ Elijah Quackenboss.’* He 
was a mixture of Yankee and German, originating somewhere in 
the mountains of. Pennsylvania. He had been a schoolmaster 
among his native hills — had-picked up some little book-learning ; 
but what.rendered him more interesting to me was the fact that 
he was a botanist. Not a very scientific one, it is true ; but in 
whatever way obtained, he possessed a respectable knowledge of 
flora and sykia, and evinced an aptitude for $he study not info* 


208 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


rior to Linnaeus himself. The more surprising was this, that such 
inclinations are somewhat rare among Americans — but Quacken- 
boss no doubt drew his instincts from his Teutonic ancestry. 

If his intellectual disposition was odd, not less so was his phy- 
sical. His .person was tall, crooked, and lanky ; and . none of 
those, members that should have been. counterparts of each other 
seemed exactly to-match. His arms were -odd ones — his limbs 
unlike ; and all. four looked as if they had met by- accident, and 
could not .agree upon, anything ; his. eyes were no better mated, 
and never consented to look in the same direction ; but with the 
right one, Elijah Quackenboss could “sight” a rifle, and- drive in 
a.nail at a -hundred yards- distance. 

From his odd. habits his companions — the rangers — regarded 
him as hardly “ square butthis-idea was partially derived from 
seeing hint engaged in his botanical researches — an occupation 
that to them appeared simply absurd. They knew, however, 
that “-Dutch Lige” — such was his sobriquet — could shoot “ plum 
centre and ^notwithstanding his- quiet .demeanor, had proved 
himself “--good stuff at the -bottom and this shielded him 
from the - ridicule he would otherwise have experienced at their 
hands. 

Than Quackenboss, a more- ardent student of botany I never 
saw. No . labor retarded him in the .pursuit. No- matter how 
wearied with drill or oth^r duties, the moment the-hours became his 
own, he would be off in search oLrare plants, wandering far from 
camp, and at times placing himself in situations of extreme danger. 
Since hia-arrival on Texan ground, he had ..devoted much- att en- 
tion to the .study of tho cactacece , and now having reached Mex- 
ico, the home of these singular endogens, he might be said to 
have gone^cactus-mad. Every day his- researches disclosed to 
him new-forms of cactus or.cereus, and it was in. -connection with 
one oLthese that he was novy recalled to my memory. I remem- 
ber his . having told me— for a similarity of tastes frequently 
brought us into conversation — of his having discovered, but a 


ELIJAH QTTACKENBOSS. 


m 


few days before, a new and singular species of mamillaria. He 
had found it growing upon a prarie mound which he had climb* 
ed for the purpose of exploring its botany, adding at the same 
time that he had observed the species only upon the top of this 
mound, and nowhere else in the surrounding country. 

This mound was- our mesa. It had been, climbed by Elijah 
Quackenbos? ! 

If-he, a wkjvarcL animal that he was, had been able to scale the 
height, why dould nob we. ? 

This was m^f . reflection ; and without staying to consider 
what advantage we should-derive from such a proceeding, I com- 
municated the-discovery to my companions. 

Both appearecldelighted, and after a short scrutiny,, declared 
the path practicable. Garey believed he could, easily go up; 
and Rube in his terse wav said, that his “Joints wa’nt so- stiff 
yet only a month ago he had “ clomb a wuss-looking bluff than 
it.” 

But now the^reflection occurred, to what purpose should we 
make the -ascent ? We could, not escape in that way ! There 
was nckchance of our being able to descend upon the other side, 
for there the cliff was, impracticable. The , behavior of the 
guerrilleros had given, proof of this. Some time before, Ijurra, 
with another, had -gone to the.rear of the mound, evidently to 
reconnoitre it, in hopes of being able to assail us from behind. 
But they had returned and their gestures betokened their disap- 
pointment. 

Why, -then, should we-.ascend, if we. could not also, descend on 
the opposite side ? True upon the- summit we should be per- 
fectly safe from an attack of the -guerrilla, but not from -thirst, 
and this was tha. enemy we now dreaded. Water would not be 
found on the top of the mesa. It could., not better our situa- 
tion to. go there ; on the .contrary, we should be in a worse 
“fix” than. ever. So said 'Garey v Where we were, we had 
ourdiorses — a spare one to eat whefy that became necessary, and 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


&10 


the pthers to.aid us in our attempt to escape. Should we, climb 
the cliff, -these must be left behiud. From the top was less than 
fifty yards, and. cur rifles w®uld still cover them from the clutch 
of our enemies, but to- what advantage? Like ourselves, .they 
must in time fall before thirst and hunger. 

The gleam of Lope died within us, as suddenly as it had sprung 
up. 

It could in nowise serve us to scale the cliff : we were better 
in our .present position ; we could hold that so long as thirst 
would allow us. We could not do more within the granite walls 
of an impregnable fortress. 

This was the conclusion at which Garey and I had simultan- 
eously-arrived.* 

Kube had not yet expressed himself. The, old man was stand- 
ing with both hands clutching his long rifle, the butt of which 
rested upon the ground. He. held the piece near the muzzle, 
partially leaning upon it, while he. appeared, gazing intently into 
the barrel. This was one of his “ ways ” when endeavoring to 
unravel a knotty question ; and- Garey and I, knowing this pe- 
culiarity on the part of the old trapper, remained -silent — leaving 
him to the free development of his “ instincts.” 


CHAPTER XXXYIIL 

THE TRAP EMPTY. 

For several minutes Rube preserved his meditative attitude, 
without uttering a word or making the slightest motion. At 
length, a low but cheerful wdiistle escaped his lips, and at the 
same time his body became erect. 

“ Eh ? what is’t, old boy ?” inquired. Garey, who understood 
the signal, and knew that the whistle denoted some discovery. 


THE TRAP EMPTY. 


211 


Rube’s reply was the interrogatory : “ How long’s yur trail* 
rope, Bill ?” 

“ It are twenty yards — good mizyure,” answered Garey. 

“ An yurs, young fellur ?” 

“ About the same length — perhaps a yard or two more.” 

11 Good !” ejaculated the questioner, with a satisfied look. 
14 we’lllbol them niggurs yit — we will !” 

“ Hooraw for you, old boy ! you’ve hit on some plan, hain’t 
^ou ?” This was Garey’s interrogatory. 

“ Sartintiy, I-hez.” 

“ Let’s. _have it then, kummarade,” said Garey, seeing that 
Rube had relapsed into silence ; “ their ain’t much time to think 
o’-things ” 

“ Plenty o’ time, Billee ! Don’t be so-durned impatient boy ! 
Thur’s-gobs o’ time. I’ll stake my ole.mai%gin the young fel- 
lur’s black^hoss, thjt welll be-. out o’ this scrape afore- sunup. 
Geehosophat ! how ' thuTk cuss when they finds the trap- empy. 
He, he, he — ho, ho-, hoo 1” 

And the old sinner continued to laugh for some seconds, as 
coolly and cheerfully as if no enemy was within a thousand miles 
of thespot. 

Garey and I were, chafing with impatience, but we knew 
that our comrade was in one of his queer moods, and it was 
no use attempting to push him faster than he was disposed to go. 

When hig chuckling fit was ended, he assumed a more serious 
air, and once more appeared to busy himself with the calculation 
of some problem. He spoke in soliloquy. 

“ Twenty yurds o’ Bill’s,” muttered he, “ an twenty o’ the 
young fellur’s^filNbrty ; an rayen — it fir sixteen yurds— make 
the hul fifty an. six ; ye-es, fifty-six preezactly. Then thur’s the 
knots to come off o’ thet, though fornenst ’em thur’s bridles. 
Wagh 1 thur’s rope-aplenty, an enough over, ta string up half a 
score o’ them .yeller-bellies, ef ever I gits, holten ’em And 
won't I ? Wagh!” 


212 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


During this, arithmetical process, Rube, instead of gazing any 
longer into the barrel of his rifle, had kept his eyes wandering 
up and down the cliff. Before he had ceased talking, both 
Garey and myself had divined his plan, but we refrained from 
telling him so. To have anticipated the old trapper in his dis- 
closure would have been a mortaLoffence. 

We waited for him to make it known. 

“ Now, boyes !” said he at length, “ hyuris how we'll git clur. 
Fust an fo’must, well crawl up yander, soon’s it gits dark enough 
to kiver us. Seconds, well toat our trail-ropes along wi’ us. 
Thuds, well jine the three thegither^a# thet ain’t long enough, 
a kupple o’ bridles ’ill help out. FoTh,' we’ll tie the eend o’ the 
rope to a sapling up thur on top, an then slide down the bluff on 
t’other side, do ee see ? Fift, oncest down on the prairie, well 
put-straight for the settlements. Sixt an.lastest, when we gits 
thur, well gather ajsvheen o’ the young fellur’s. rangers,- take a. 
bee-line back to the- mound, an_ gie these hyur niggurs such a 
lambaystin as theyjiain’t hed since the war begun. Now?” 

“ Now meant, what .think you of the plan ? Mentally, bot£_, 
Garey and I had already .approved of it, and we promptly signi- 
fied our approval. It really promised well. Should we succeed 
in carrying out the details without being detected, it was prob- 
able enough .that within a. Jew hours we might be. safe in the 
plaza of the raneheria, and quenching our thirst at its crystal well 

The anticipated pleasure filled us with fresh energy ; and we 
set about putting everything in readiness. One watched,- while 
the other two worked. Our lazoes were, knotted together, and 
the. Jour horses .fastened head to head with their bridles, and se- 
cured in-so as to keep them behind the boulder. This done, we 
awaited the- falling of night. 

Would it be a dark night ? About this we now felt anxious. 
It was already closing down and ga^e promise of Javoring us ; a 
layer of lead-colored clouds covered the sky, and we knew there 
could be naxmoon before-midnight. 


THE TRAP EMPTY. 


213 


Rube, who boasted he could read weather-sign like a “ salt-sea 
jailor/ scrutinized the sky. 

" Wal, old hoss !” interrogated Garey, “what do ye think 
o’t ? Will it be dark, eh ?” 

“Black as'a%&r 1” muttered Rube in reply ; and then, as if 
not satisfied with the, si mile, he added: “Black as the inside 
o’ a buffler bull’s, belly on a burnt, paraira - *'■ <*•- 

The old trapper laughed heartily at the ludicrous conceit, and 
Garey and I could not refrain from joining in the laugh. The 
guerrilleros must have heard us ; they must have deemed us 
mad ! 

Rube’s prognostication proved correct ; the night came down 
dark and ^lowering. The leaden layer broke up into black 
cumulus clouds, that slowly careered across the canopy of the 
sky. A_storm portended ; and^ already some big. drops, that 
-shot vertically„downward, could be heard-pl ashing heavily upon 
our saddles. All- this was to o.ur_ satisfaction ; but at that 
moment a flash of.. lightning Jllumiued the whole, arch of the 
heavens, lighting the prairie as with a thousand torches. It was 
none of the pale lavender-colored light, seen in northern climes, 
but a brilliant- blaze, that appeared to pervade all space, and 
almost rivalled the brightness of day. 

Its sudden and unexpected .appearance filled us with- dismay : 
we. recognized in it an obstacle to our designs. 

“ Durn the-tarnal thing !” exclaimed Rube, peevishly. “ It 
ur wuss than a. moon, durn it !” 

“Isitgointo be the_quick-forky, or the ..long-blazey ?” in- 
quired Garey, with a reference toAwo distinct -modes in which, 
upon these southern prairies, the electric, fluid exhibits itself. 

In the ^former, the flashes are quick aud short-lived, and th*: 
intervals of darkness also of- short duration. Bolts, pierce the 
clouds in-straight, Jance-like. shafts, or. forking an&zigzag, follow- 
ed by. thunder in loud unequal bursts, and dashes of intermittent 
rain 


214 


THE WAR- TRAIL. 


The other is very, .distinct from this ; there are-.no shafts or 
bolts, but a steady, blaze which fills the whole- firmament with a 
white^quivering light,. lasting many seconds of time, and followed 
by long -intervals of amorphous- darkness. Such lightning is 
rarely accompanied by thunder, and rain is not always its ;on- 
eomitant, though it was this sort we now witnessed, and rain- 
drops were falling. 

“ Quick-forky !” echoed Rube, in reply to his comrade’s inter- 
rogatory ; “ no— dod rot it ! not so bad as thet. It ur the 
blazey. Thur’s no thunder, dont’ee see ? Wal ! we must grope 
our way up atween theglimps.” 

1 understood why Rube preferred the “ blazey the long 
intervals of darkness between the flashes might enable us to carry 
out our plan. 

He had .scarcely finished speaking, when the lightning gleam- 
ed a second lime, and theprairie was lit up like a theatre during 
the grand., scene in a spectacle. We could see the guerrilleros 
standing by their horses, in cordon across the plain ; we could 
distinguish their arms and equipments — even the buttons upon 
their Jackets 1 With their faces rendered ghastly under the 
glare, and their, bodies magnified to .gigantic proportions, they 
presented to our eyes a wild and spectral appearance. 

With the flash there was mo thunder — neither the close- quick 
clap, nor the distant- rumble. There was perfect silence, which 
rendered the scene more awfully impressive. 

“All right !” muttered Rube, as he saw that the . besiegers 
still kept their places. “We must jest grope our way up atween 
the glimps ; but fust let ’em see we’re still hyur.” 

We protruded our faces and rifles around the rock, and in this 
position awaited another flash. 

It came, bright as before ; the enemy could not fail to have 
noticed us. 

Our programme was already-prepared : Garey was to ascend 
first, and take up the rope. He only waited for the termination 


SCALING THE CLIFF. 


215 


of another blaze. One. end of the lazo was fastened round his 
waist, and the„rope. hung down behind him. 

When the light gleamed again, he was ready ; and the moment 
it went out, he glided forward to the cliff, and commenced his 
ascent. 

O, for a long interval of darkness ! 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

SCALING THE CLIFF. 

0 for a long interval of darkness ! 

Our hearts beat, anxiously — at least I can answer for my own. 
Rube watched the guerrilleros, permitting his head to be seen by 
them. My eyes were. bent upon the rocky. wall, but through the 
thick darkness I looked in vain for our comrade. I . listened to 
hear how he was- progressing: I could distinguish a slight 
scratching against the cliff, each moment, higher and farther 
away ; but Garey climbed with amoccasined foot, and the noise 
was too faint to reach the. ears of our enemies. 0 for a long 
interval of- darkness I 

It. appeared ajong one : perhaps it was nojt five minutes, but 
it fdL twice that, before the lightning again blazed forth. With 
the flash, I ran my eyes up the precipitous wall. 0 God 1 Garey 
was^still upon its face, scarcely midway up. He was standing 
on a ledge — his body flattened against the rock — and with his 
arms extendedjiorizontally, he presented the appearance of a. 
man crucified upon the cliff ! So long as the glare lasted, he 
remained in this attitude, motionless as the rock itself. 

1 turned with anxious look toward the guerrilleros. I heard 


216 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


no voice ; I observed no movement. Thank Heaven i they saw 
himmot ! 

Near where he was resting, some bushes of the trailing, ced si 
grew out of theeliff ; their dark foliage mottled its white r lace, 
rendering the form of the climber less conspicuous. 

Another long spell of darkness, another blaze of light. 

I scanned the gorge : no. human form was visible. I saw a 
dark line that, like a crack, vertically intersected the cliff from 
parapet to base : it was the rope Garey had carried up. He 
had reached the summit in safety I 

It was my turn next — for Rube insisted on retaining the post 
of danger — and with my rifle slung on my back, I stood ready. 
I had given the parting whisper to my brave steed, and pressed 
his velvet muzzle to my cheek. With the last flicker of the 
electriagleam, I seized the hanging lazo, and drew myself upward. 

I had confidence in the rope. I knew it was fastened above, or 
safe in the strong, grasp of Garey. With its.aid the ascent was 
rendered easy. I experienced no difficulty in climbing from ledge 
to ledge, and before the light came again, I had reached the crest 
of the -cliff. 

We lay flat among the. bushes that grew by the very brink, 
scarcely .showing our faces to the front. 

I saw that the rope had been fastened round the trunk of a 
small tree. Presently we perceived by its jerking that Rube 
had begun his ascent. Shortly after, we could hear him sprawl- 
ing and scratching upward, and then his thin dark form loomed 
over the edge of the cliff, and dead beat for breath, he staggered 
silently into the bushes beside us. Even in the darkness, I 
noticed something peculiar in his appearance ! his head looked 
gmaller, but I had no time to question him. 

We-waited only for another glance at the guerrilleros ; they 
were still at their posts, evidently unconscious of our movements. 
Rube’s catskin cap, cunningly adjusted upon the boulder, satis- 
fied them that we were -still at ours ; and explained, moreover, 


SCALING THE CLIFF. 


217 


the oddness I had observed about the upper story of the trap- 
per. 

Rube had now recovered wind ; and gathering up the rope, 
we stole away over the table-summit to search for a place oi 
descent. 

On reaching the.opposite side, we at once found what we wan- 
ted — a tree near the edge of the cliff. Many small pines grew 
upon the escarpment ; and selecting one, we knotted the rope 
securely around its trunk. 

There was yet much to be done before any of us could attempt 
the descent. We, knew that the cliff was more than a hundred 
feet in vertical height, and to glide down a rope of that length is 
a trying feat, worthy the . most expert of tars. None of us might 
be able to., accomplish it : the,,first could be lowered down easily 
enough, and this, was our intention ; so might the second ; but 
the other would have to glide down the rope. 

We were not. long delayed by the . contemplation of this 
obstacle : my comrades were men of quick thought ; and a plan 
to lessen the difficulty soon, suggested itself. Their knives were 
out in a trice : a sapling was. procured, and cut intojshort pieces ; 
these were- notched, and tied at intervals along the rope. Our 
11 Jacob’s ladder n wa^ready. 

It still, remained to make- sure that the rope was of sufficient 
length. The. knots had somewhat shortened it ; but this point 
was soon, settled with like* ingenuity. A small stone was tied to 
one end, and then dropped over the cliff. We listened: we 
heard the dull “ thump” of the . stone upon the prairie turf. The 
rope therefore reached to the ground. 

It was again drawn up, the stone taken out, and the noose fast- 
ened around the body of Rube, under his-armpits. He was light- 
est, and for this reason had been chosen to make the first descent, 
as he would Jeast try the strength of the rope— still a doubtful 
point. The-ascent had not proved it— for in climbing-up, but 
one-half of our weight had been upon it, our feet resting either 

10 


218 


THE WAK-TKAIL. 


against the cliff, or upon its ledges. On reaching the plain, 
Rube was to submit the-rope to trial, before, either Garey or I 
should attempt to go down. This he was to do by adding a 
large stone to his own weight — making both at least equal to 
that of Garey, who was by far the heaviest of the party. 

All being arranged, the old trapper slid silently over the edge 
of the cliff--Garey and I giving out the rope slowly, and with 
caution. Foot by foot, and yard by yard, it was drawn through 
our hands by the weight of the descending body, now lost to our 
sight over the brow of the cliff. 

Still slowly, and with caution, we allowed the lazo to pass, 
takingcare that it should glide gradually, so as not to jerk, and 
cause the body of our comrade to vibrate with too much violence 
against the rocks. 

We were both seated close together, our faces turned to the 
plain. More than three-quarters of the rope had passed from us, 
and we were congratulating ourselves that the .trial would soon be 
over, when to our dismay, the ..‘Strain, ceased with a suddenness 
that caused both of. ila to recoil upon our backs ! At the same 
instant, we heard the “ twang ” of the snapping rope h followed by 
a sharp-crydrom below ! 

We. sprang to our feet, and- mechanically recommenced haul- 
ing upon the rope. The weight was no longer upon it ; it was 
light as packthread, and returned to our hands without effort. 

Desisting, we fronted to each other, but not for an explana- 
tion. Neither required it ; neither uttered a word. The case 
was clear : the rope had broken ; our comrade had been hurled 
to the earth ! 

With a simultaneousjmpulse, we dropped upon our knees ; and, 
crawling forward to the brink of the precipice, -looked over and 
downward. We could -see nothing in the dark abysm that 
frowned below ; and we waited till the light should break forth 
again. 

We listened with ears keenly set. Was it a groan we heard ? 


SCALING THE CLIFF. 


219 


a cry of agony ? No ; its repetition told us what it was —the 
howl of the prairie wolf. No human voice reached our ears 
Alas; no ! Even a cry of pain would have been welcome, since 
it would havejtold us our comrade still lived. But no, he was 
silent — dead — perhaps broken to atoms 1 

It was long. ere the lightning gleamed again. Before it did, 
we heard, voices. They came from the bottom of the clifj^ 
directly under us ; but -there were two, and neither was the voice 
of the trapper. It is easy to distinguish the full intonation of the 
Saxon from the .shrill treble of the sons of Anahuac. The voices 
were-those of our foes. 

Presently the -light.discovered Ahem to us. Two there were. 
They were on horseback, moving on the plain below, and close 
in to the. cliff. We, saw them distinctly, but we saw not what 
we had -expected — the. mangled' body of our comrade ! The 
gleam, long continued, had given us full time to scrutinize the 
ground. We could have^ distinguished upon it any object as 
large as a pat. Rube, living or dead, was certainly not there ! 

Had he fallen into the hands of the guerrilla ? The two we 
saw carried lances, but no prisoner. It wasi not likely they had 
captured him; besides, we knew that Rube, unless badly crippled, 
would „never have- surrendered without a struggle, and neither 
shot nor shout had been heard. 

We were soon relieved from alLuneasiness on this score. The 
brigands continued their conversation, and the light, bieeze 
wafted their voice, upwards, so that we could distinguish part 
of what was said. 

“Carrambol” exclaimed one impatiently ; * ; you must have 
been mistaken ? It was the, coyotd you heard.” 

“ Captain! I amxonfident it-was a man’s voice.” 

11 Then it . must have proceeded from one of the picarros behind 
the rock. There is no one outhere ? But come ! let us return 
by the -other side of the mesa *-vamos ! v 

The hoof-stroke admonished ns that they were passing onward 


220 


THE WAR-TRAIL 


to carry out the desfgn of the last speaker, who was no other 
than Ijurra himself. 

It was a .^relief to know that one comrade had not yet fallen 
into their clutches. How far he was injured, we could not have 
an idea. The rope had given way close to the top, and Rube 
had carried most of it down with him. In the. confusion, we 
had not noticed how much^remained, behind our hands, when he 
fell ; and mow we could only guess. Seeing that he had disap* 
peared from the spot, we were in high hope that he had sustained 
no serious injury. 

But whither had he' gone ? Had he but crawled away, and 
was yet in the neighborhood -of the mesa? If so, they might 
light, upon him. Hiding-place there was none, either by the 
base of the cliff or on the surrounding plain. 

Garey and I were anxious about the result — the more so, 
that the guerrilleros had heard his cry, and were jn search of 
him. He might easily be. found in such a naked spot. 

We hastily-formed the determination to cross the table sum- 
mit to the other side, and watch the movements of the two 
horsemen. 

Guided by their voices, we ouce more knelt above them, at 
the. rearmost angle of the mound. They had thera halted to 
examine the ground, and only , waited for the flash ; we, too, 
waited above them, and -within range. 

“We kin fetch them out o’ thar saddles V* whispered my com- 
panion. 

I . hesitated to give my assent ; perhaps it was prudence that 
restrained me, for I had now conceived. hopes of a surer deliver- 
ance. 

At that moment gleamed the lightning ; the dark-horsemen 
loomed -large under its yellow glare ; they were less than fifty 
paces from the muzzles of our guns: we could have sighted them 
witlL&ure aim; and, bayed as we hadjbeen, I was almost tempted 
to yield to the solicitations of my companion. 


SCALING THE CLIFF. 


221 


Just then, an object came under our eyes that caused both of 
us to draw back our half-levelled rifles — that, object was the 
body of our comrade Rube. It was lying flat upon the ground, 
the arms and legs .stretched out to their full extent, and the 
face- buried deep in the grass. From the elevation at which we 
viewed it, it appeared like the hide of a young buffalo spread 
out to dry, and pinned tightly to the turf. But we.knew it was 
not lhat ; we knew it was the body of a man dressed in brown 
buckskin — the- body of the earless trapper ! It was not dead 
either ; no -dead body could have placed itself in such an atti- 
tude, for it lay flattened along the turf like a gigantic newt. 

The object of this, attitude was evident to us, and our hearts 
beat with a painful ..anxiety while the light flickered around. 
The body was scarcely- five hundred yards out ; but though 
perfectly-visible from our position, it must have been inconspi- 
cuous to the. horsemen below; for as .soon as it darkened, we 
heard them, to our great relief, ride back toward the front, 
Ijurra -reiterating his - doubts as they passed away. Fortunate 
it wa& for both him and his companion they had not espied that 
prostrate form — fortunate foe. Rube— for all of us ! 

Garey and I kept our places, and waited for another flash 
When it came, the brown buckskin was no longer in sight 1 
Far off — nearly a mile off, we fancied we could distinguish the 
same -form flattened out as before ; but the gleam of the prairie- 
grass rendered our vision uncertain. 

Of one thing, however, we were certain— -our comrade had 
escaped. 


222 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


CHAPTER XL. 

A REINFORCEMENT. 

For the first time, since encountering the guerrilla, I breathed 
freely, and felt confident we should get free. My comrade 
shared my relief ; and it is needless to say that we recrossed the 
summit of the mesa with lighter hearts and step more buoyant. 

Of course we no longer speculated about making the descent; 
with the fragment of rope left, that was. impossible. We were 
simply returning to the front, to keep an eye upon the guerril- 
leros, and, if possible prevent them from approaching our horses 
— should they by any chance discover that we had retreated 
from our position behind the rock. 

We were the more anxious about our horses, now that we had 
less. .apprehension for jourselves; at- least I can answer for myself, 
and the explanation is easy. So long as I felt the probability 
that every moment might be the last of my life, the fate of Moro 
and the white steed was but a secondary consideration. Now 
that I felt-certain I should survive this perilous escapade, the 
future once more urged its claims ; and I was anxious not only 
to preserve my own steed, but the beautiful creature that had 
led me into all this peril, but whose capture still promised its 
rich, reward. 

That all danger was past — that in a few hours we should 
be free, was the full belief both of my companion and myself. 
Perhaps .you may not comprehend from wlmt-daf^we drew so 
confident and .comfortable a conclusion, though our reasoning 
was, simple enough. We knew that Rube would reach the ran 
cheria, and return with a rescue-^that was all. 


A REINFORCEMENT. 


223 


'Tisutrue we were not without some, anxiety. The rangers 
might no longer be there? — the army might have marched? — 
perhaps the picket was withdrawn ? Rube himself be might 
intercepted, or slain ? 

The lasthypo thesis gave us least concern. We had full trust 
in the trapper’s ability to. penetrate to the American camp — to 
"the v-enemy’s, if necessary. We had just been favored with a 
specimen of his- skill. Whether the army had advanced or not, 
Rube would reach it before morning, if he should have to steal 
a -horse upon the way. He would soon find the .rangers ; and, 
even without orders, Holingsworth would lend him a few — half 
a dozen of them would be enough. In the, worst view of the case, 
there were, stragglers enough about the camp-rodd birds, that 
could easily be enlisted for such a duty. We had scarcely a 
doubt that our comrade would come back with a rescue. 

As to the time, we were left to conjectures. It might be 
before morning’s light — it might not be before late in the follow- 
ing day, or even thejnight after. But, that was a consideration 
that now weighecLlightly. Wo could, hold our aerial fortress 
for a week — a month — ay, far.Jonger, and against hundreds. 
We could not bu.assaiied. With our~ rifles to guard the cliff, 
no storming-partv could, approach — no forlorn-hope could scale 
our battlements ! 

But what of 4hirst and hunger, you will ask ? Ha ! we 
dreaded not either. Fortune’s favors had fallen upon us in 
showers. Even on that lone, summit, we found the means to 
assuage the- one and, satisfy the other ! 

In crossing the table-top, we stumbled upon huge echinocacti , 
that~grew over the ground like ant-hills or gigantic bee-hives. 
They were the mammillaria of Quackenboss-^dome-shaped, and 
some of them ten feet in diameter. Garey’s knife was out in a 
trice ; a portion of the spinous coat of the.largest was stripped 
off, its top truncated, and a bowl scooped in the soft* succulent 


224 : 


THE WAR-TRAIL 


mass. In another minute, we had assuaged our thirst from this 
vegetable- fountain of the Desert. 

With similar facility were we enabled to gratify the kindred 
appetite. As I had conjectured, on viewing them from the 
plain, the trees of light-green foliage were “pinon” — the “ nut- 
pine ” ( Pinus edulis), of which there are several species in North- 
ern Mexico, whose cones contain seeds edible and nutritious. A 
few handfuls of these we gathered, and hungered no more. 
They would have been better ^roasted, but at that moment we 
were contented to eat them raw. 

No wonder, then, that with such a supply for the present, and 
such hopes for the future, we no longer dreaded the impotent 
fury of our foes. 

We lay down at the top of the gorge to. watch their further 
movements, and cover our horses from their attack. The flash 
of the lightning,showed them still on guard, just as we had left 
them. One of each file was mounted, while his companion, on 
foot, paced to and fro in the intervals of the cordon. Their 
measures were cunningly taken ; they were evidently determined 
we should not steal past them in the darkness ! 

The lightning began to abate, and the intervals between the 
flashes became longer and longer. 

During, one of these- intervals, we were . startled by the sound 
of .hoof-strokes at some , distance off ; it was the tramp of horses 
upon the. hard plain. There is a .difference between the hoof- 
stroke of a ridden horse and one that is riderless, and the prairie- 
man is rarely puzzled to distinguish them. My companion at 
once pronounced the horses to be “ mounted.” 

The guerilleros, on the. alert, had heard them at the same 
time as we, and two of them now galloped out to- reconnoitre. 
This we ascertained only by hearing, for we could not distinguish 
an object six feet from our faces — the darkness was almost- pal- 
pable to the touch. 


A REINFORCEMENT. 


225 


The sounds came from a considerable distance, but we dould 
tell that the horsemen were advancing toward the mesa. 

We drew no hope from this advent. Rube could not yet have 
even reached the rancheria. The new-comers were El Zorro 
and his companion on their return. 

We were not kept long in doubt ; the horsemen approached 
and shouts and salutations were exchanged between them and 
the guerrilleros, while the horses of both parties neighed in 
response, as if they knew each other. 

At this moment the lightning shone again, and to our surprise 
we perceived, not only El Zorro but a reinforcement of full thirty 
men ! The trampling of many , hoofs had,, half-prepared us for 
this discovery. 

It was -not without feelings of alarm that we beheld this 
accession to the enemy’s strength. Surely they would no longer 
hesitate to .. assail ouivfiortress behind the rock ? At least our 
horses would be captured ? Besides, Rube’s rescue might be 
too weak for such a force ? There were nearly fifty. 

Our anxiety as to the first two points was soon at an end. 
To our astonishment, we perceived that no assault, was to be 
made as yet. We , saw them increase the strength of their cor- 
don of sentries, and make other dispositions to carry on the 
siege. Evidently they regarded us as hunters do the grizzly 
bear, the lion, or tiger— not to be. attacked in our lair. They 
dreaded the havoc which they well knew would be made by 
our rifles and revolvers ; and they determined to . reduce us by 
starvation. On no other principle could we account for the 
cowardly- continence of their revenge. 


226 


THE WAR-TEAIL. 


CHAPTER X L I 

THE INDIAN SPY. 

It was past the hour of midnight. The. lightning, that lor 
some time had appeared only at long intervals, now ceased alto* 
gether. Its fitful -glare gave place to a -softer, steadier light, 
for the moon had. arisen, and was- climbing up the eastern sky. 
Cumulus -clouds still hung in the heavens, slowly floating across 
the canopy; but their masses were-detached, and the- azure- fir- 
mament was visible through the- spaces between. The beautiful 
planetJTenus, and -here and there a solitary star, twinkled in 
these blue voids, or gleamed through the filmy bordering of the 
clouds ; but the chiefs of the constellations alone were visible. 
The moon’s-disc waa clear and well defined, whiter from- contrast 
with the dark cumuli ; and her beam frosted the prairie till 
the grass looked hpar. There was neither mist nor mirage ; 
the, electric fluid had purged the atmosphere of its gases, and 
the air was cool, limpid, and ^bracing. Though the -moon had 
passed the-full, so brilliant was her- beam, that an . object could 
have been distinguished. -far off upon the plain, whose, silvery 
level extended on all sides to the horizon. The thick black 
clouds, s however, moving^silently over the sky, occasioned long 
intervals of -eclipse, during which the prairie, as before, was 
ihrouded in sombre darkness. 

TJp to this time, Garey and I had remained by the head of 
the little gorge, through which we had -ascended. The moon 
was behind us, for the guerrilla was on the-western side of the 
mesa. The shadow of the mound was thrown far out upon the 
plain, and just beyond its well-defined edge was the line of.senti* 


1HE INDIAN SPY. 


227 


nels thickly posted On our knees among the low shrubbery, we 
were unseen by them, while we commanded a perfect view of 
the whole troop, as they smoked, chattered, shouted, and sang 
—for they gave such tokens of their jovial humor. 

After quietly watching them for some time, Garey left me to 
take a turn round the summit, and reconnoitre the opposite or 
eastern side. In. that direction lay the rancheria ; and if the 
picket was„stilL.statioued there, we might sooa. expect the res* 
cue. My rangers were not the men to tarry, called forth on 
such a purpose; and under Rube’s guidance, they would be most 
likely to make their approach by the-rear of the mound. Garey, 
therefore, jwent in that direction to make his reconnoissance. 

He had not.parted from me more than a minute, when a dark 
objecUout upon the plain attracted my, glance. I fancied it 
was the figure of a man; it was prostrate and flattened against 
the ground, just asL.X)ld Rube had appeared when making his 
escape ! Surely it was not Jie ? I had but au indistinct view 
of it, for it was^full six hundred, yards from the mesa, and 
directly beyond the line of the guerrilleros. Just then a cloud 
crossing the moon’s disc, shrouded the plain, and the dark object 
was no more visible. 

I kept my.eyes fixed on the spot, and waited for the returning 
light. When the cloud passed, the .figure was no . longer where 
I had .first noticed it ; but nearer to the horsemen I perceived 
the same object, and in the same attitude as ..before ! It was 
now within, less than two hundred yards of the Mexican line, 
but a bunch of tufted grass appeared to shelter it from the eyes 
of the guerrilleros, as none of them gave any. sign that it was 
perceived by. them. From my elevated position, the grass did 
not^conceal it. I had a clearjriew of the figure, and was certain 
it was the .body of a man, and, still .more, of a naked man, for it 
glistened under the sheen of the moonlight, as only a naked 
body would have done. 

Up to this time I had fancied, or rather Reared, it might b6 


22$ 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


Rube. I say feared — for I had no wish -jb see Rube, upon his 
return, ^present himself in 4hafc ^fashion Surely he would not 
come back-alone? And why should he be thus playing the^spy, 
Since he already knew the exact position of our enemy ? 

The nap par it ion puzzled me, and L was for a while in doubt. 
But the naked bodyjreassured me. It could not be Rube. The 
skin was of a dark hue, but^so was that of the -old trapper 
Though born white, the sun, dirt,, gunpowder, and grease, with 
the smoke of many a prairie fire, had altered Rube’s complexion 
to the true .copper tint, and in point of, col our, he had but little 
advantage over a full blood Indian. But Rube would not have 
been naked ; he never- doffed hie buckskins. Besides the- oily 
glitter of that body wasmot Rube’s ; his “ hide ” would not have 
shone so under the moonlight. No ; the prostrate form was not 
his. 

Another cloud cast new shadows ; and while these, contin- 
ued, I saw no more of the skulking figure. As the moou 
agaiu shone.forth, I perceived that it was gone from behind the 
tuft of grass. I scanned the ground in the immediate neigh- 
borhood. It wasuot to be seen ; but on looking further out I 
could just distinguish the figure of a man, bent forward and 
rapidly glidings away. L followed it with my eyes until it 
disappeared in the distance, as though it had melted into the 
moonlight. 

While gazing intently over the .distant plain in the direc- 
tion whence the figure had retreated, I was startled at behold- 
ing not one, but many forms, dimly outlined upon the prairie 
edge. 

“It was Rube,” thought I ; “ and yonder are the -ran- 
gers !” 

I strained my eyes to their utmost. They were horsemen be- 
yond a doubt ; but, to my .astonishment' instead of being close 
together, one followed another in single-file, until a long line was 
traced against the sky like the links of a gigantic chain. Ex 


THE C ABA] .LADA. 


229 


cept in the narrow defile, £>r the forest-path, my rangers never 
rode in that fashion. It could not be they ! 

At this crisis, a new thought came into my mind. More than 
once in my life had I witnessed a spectacle similar to that now 
under my eyes — more than once had l looked upon it with 
dread. That serried line was an old Acquaintance : it was a 
band of. Indian warriors on their midnight march— r-upon the war- 
trail ! 

The actions of the spy were, explained ; he was an Indian run- 
ner. The party to whom he belonged was about to approach 
the mesa— perhaps with the design of encamping there — he had 
been sent forward to reconnoitre the ground. 

What effect his , tale would have, I could not guess. I could 
see that the horsemen were halted — perhaps awaiting the return 
of4heir messenger. They were too. distant to be seen by the 
Mexicans ; and the> minute after they were also invisible to my 
eyes upon the darkly shadowed prairie. 

Before , communicating with-Garey, I resolved to wait for 
another gleam of moonlight, so that I might have a more dis- 
tinct story to tell. 


CHAPTER X L I I . 

THE CABALLADA. 

It was nearly a quarter of an hour before the cloud moved 
away ; and then, to my surprise, I saw a clump of horses— not 
horsemen— the prairie, and scarcely half a mile distant from 
the mesa ! Not one of them was mounted and, to all appear- 
ance, it was a drove of wild-horses that had galloped up during 
the interval of darkness, and were now standing silent and mo- 
tionless. 


230 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


I strained my eyes upon the distant prairie, but the dim horse- 
men were no longer to be seen. They must have ridden off 
beyond the, range of vision ? 

I was -about to seek my comrade and communicate to him 
what had passed, when on rising, to my feet, I found him stand- 
ing by my side. He had been all around the summit without 
seeing aught, and had returned to satisfy himself that the guer- 
rilla was still quiet. 

“ Hillow 1” he exclaimed, as his eyes fell upon the caballada- 
“ What the darnation’s yonder, a drove o’ wild hosses ? It’s 
mighty strange them niggers don’t notice ’em ! By the etar- 
nal ■” 

I know not what Garey meant to have said. His words were 
drowned by the wild yell that broke simultaneously from the 
Mexican line ; and themext moment the whole troop were seen 
springing to their saddles, and putting themselves in motion. 

We, of course* supposed they had just discovered the caballada 
of wild, horses, and it was that that was producing this sudden 
stampede. What was our astonishment on perceiving that we 
ourselves were the cause of the alarm ; for the guerrilleros in- 
stead of>.frontiug to the plain, rode closer up to the cliff, and 
screaming wildly 5 fired their" carbines at us! Among the rest 
we could distinguish the great gun of El Zorro, and the hiss of 
its leaden bullet, as it passed close to our ears l 

We were puzzled at first to know how they had discovered 
us. A glance explained that the moon had risen higher in the 
heavens, and the shadow cast by the mound had been gradually 
foreshortened. While gazing out at the caballada, we had in- 
cautiously kept our feet, and our figures, magnified to gigantic 
proportions, were thrown forward upon the plain directly- under 
the .eyes of our enemies. They had but to look up to see us 
where we stood. 

Instantly we knelt down among the bushes, clutching our rifles. 
The surprise occasioned by our- appearance upon the cliff, seemed 


THE CABALLADA. 


231 


to have deprived our enemies, for the moment, of their habitual 
prudence, as several of them rode boldly within- range. Per- 
haps they were some of the late arrivals. In the dark shadow 
we could not make out their forms ; but one had the misfortune 
to be mounted on a white horse, and that guided the trapper’s 
aim. I saw him glancing along his barrel, and heard the sharp 
crack. I fancied I heard a stifled groan from below, and the 
next moment the white horse was seen galloping out into the 
moonlight, but the rider was no longer upon his back. 

Another cloud passed over the moon, and the plain was again 
shrouded from our sight. Garey was proceeding to reload, when 
a cry arose amidst the darkness, that caused him to pause and 
listen. The cry w T as agaiu repeated, and then uttered continu- 
ously with that wild -intonation which can, alone proceed from 
the throat of the- savage. It was not the guerrilla that was 
uttering that cry ; it was the yell of the Indian warrior. 

“ Comanche war-hoop !” cried Garey, after listening a moment. 
“ Comanche war-hoop ? by the etarual ! Hooraw ! the Injuns 
are upon 'em l’ifiGsm, 

Amidst the cries, we could hear the rapid, trampling of 
horses, and the_ ground appeared to. vibrate under the quick 
heavy,. tread. Each moment tbeu strokes souuded nearer. The 
savages were charging the-guerrilla ! 

The moon shot forth from the cloud. There was na longer a 
doubt. The. wild-horses were-, mounted ; each, carried an Indian 
naked to the,waist, his painted body glaring red in the moon- 
light, and- terrible to behold. 

By this time the Mexicans had allmounted and faced towards 
the unexpected foe, but with evident -signs of irresolution in 
their ranks. They wouLd -never stand the charge — no, -never. 
So saidjGarey and he was. right. 

The -savages had advanced within less than a hundred paces 
of the Mexican line, when they were observed to pull suddenly 
ujf: It was but a- momentary halt— just time enough to enable 


232 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


them to^mark the formation of their foes, and send a, flight of 
arrows into their midst. That done, they dashed onward, utter- 
ing their wild yells and brandishing their long spears. 

The guerrilleros only waited to .discharge their .carbines and 
escopettes ; they did not think of reloading. Most of them 
flung away their guns as . soon as they had fired, and the retreat 
began. The whole troop turned its back upon the enemy, and 
spurring their, horses to a gallop, came sweeping round the base 
of the mesa iu headlong flight. 

The Indians, uttering their demoniac yells, followed as fast. 
They were rendered more furious that their hated foe was likely to 
escape them. The latter were indebted to-us for having put them 
upon the alert. But for that circumstance, the Indians would 
have charged them while dismounted-, and far different might 
have been their fate. Mounted and ready for flight, most of 
them would probably get -clear. 

The moment we saw T the direction the chase was about to take, 
Garey and I rushed across the summit to that side. From the 
brow of the precipice, our view was perfect, and we could see 
both parties as they passed along its base directly below us. 
Both were riding in straggling clumps, and scarcely two hundred 
paces separated the rearmost of the pursued from the headmost 
of the pursuers. The latter still uttered their war-cry, while the 
former now rode in silence — their breath bound, and their voices 
hushed in thedeathlike stillness of terror. 

All at once a^cry arose from the' guerrilla — short, quick, and 
despairing — the woice of some new..consternation ; at the same 
moment, the whole troop were seen toupull up. 

Wedooked for the cause of this extraordinary- nonduct : our 
eyes aud our ears both guided us to the explanation. From the 
opposite .direction, and scarcely three hundred yards distant, 
appeared a band of - horsemen coming up at a gallop. They 
were right in the moon’s eye, and we could see glancing arms, 
and hear loud voices. The hoofs coulcU^e heard pounding the 


THE CABALLADA. 


233 


prairie, and my companion and I recognized the heavy tread of 
the American horse. Still more -certain were we about that 
biparse “hurrah.” Neither Indian nor Mexican could have ut- 
tered that well-known* shout. 

“ Hooraw I — the rangers !” cried Garey, as he echoed the 
cry at the full pitch of his voice. 

The_ guerrilleros, 4 stupefied by surprise at sight of this new 
enemy, had. paused for a, moment — no doubt fancying it was 
another party ofjndians. Their*halt was of short duration; 
the dim-light, .favoured them ; rifles already. played upon their 
ranks ; and suddenly wheeling to the left, they struck oul into 
the open-plain. 

The Indians,. seeing them turn off, leaned into the diagonal 
line to intercept them; but the- rangers, already, close up, had 
just made a.-similar movement, and savage and Saxon were now 
obliquing^ towards eaclv mother. 

The . moon that for some minutes had been- yielding but a 
faint light, became suddenly- eclipsed by a cloud, and the dark- 
ness was now greater than ever. Garey and I saw no more of 
the-strife ; but we- heard the shock of the opposing bands ; we 
heard the-war-whoop of the .savage mingling with the rangers’ 
vengefuLshout ; we heard the “ crack, crack, crack,” of yager 
rifles, and the quick, detonations of revolvers — the clashing of 
sabre-blades upon spear shafts — the ring of breaking steel — the 
neighing of- steeds — the victor’s cry of triumph — and the deep 
anguished groan of thewietim. 

With anxious hearts, andmerves excited to their utmost, we 
stood upon the- cliff, and listened to these sounds of dread im- 
port. 

Not dong did they last. The fierce struggle was soon over. 
When the moon gleamed forth again, the battle was ended. 
Prostrate forms, both of. men and horse, were lying upon the 
plain. 

Par to the south, a dark clump was seen disappearing over 


234 : 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


the .prairie’s edge ; it was the cowardly guerrilla. To the west 
horsemen „ galloped away alone, or in straggling groups ; but 
the „cheer of triumph that reached us from the scene of strife 
told us who were the masters of the ground. The rangers had. 


triumphed, 

“ Whur "ur ye, Bill cried a voice from the bottom of the 
cliff, which. both of us easily recognized. 

“ Hyar I be,’’ answered Garey. 

“ Wal, we’ve-gin them Injuns-goss, I reck’n ; but cuss thd& 
luck, the .yeller-bellies hev got clur off. Wagh 1” 



CHAPTER XLIII. 

A CHAPTER OF EXPLANATIONS. 

THtfJGght could not-have lasted more than ten minutes. The 
w/iole skirmish had the semblance of a moonlight dream, inter- 
rupted by interludes of darkness. So rapid had been the move- 
ments of the forces engaged, that after the first fire not a gun 
was reloaded. As for the guerrilleros, the Iudian-war-cry seem- 
ed to have shaken the pieces out of their hands, for the ground 
where they had first broken off was literally. strewed with car- 
bines, escopettes, and lances. The great gun of El Zorro was 
found among the. spoils. 

Notwithstanding the~shortness of the affair, it -proved suffi- 
ciently4ragical to both Mexicans and Indians: five of the. guer- 
rilleros had bit the dust, and ...twice that number of savage 
warriors lay lifeless upon the plain — their bodies glaring under 
the red war-paint, as if shrouded in blood. The c Mexicans lay 
near the -foot of th^ mesa, having fallen under the first fire of the 


A CHAPTER OF EXPLANATIONS. 


235 


Rangers, -delivered as they galloped up. The Indians were 
further, out upon the. plain, where they had- dropped to the thick 
rapid detonations of the revolvers, that,- so long as the warriors 
held their ground, played upon them with fearful effect. They 
may have heard of this weapon, and perhaps have seen a revol- 
ver in the hands of some trapper or traveller, but, to my know- 
ledge, it w'as the first time they had ,ever encountered a band of 
men p,rmed with soAerrible a power to destroy ^for the Rangers 
were indeed the. first military organisation that carried Colt’s 
pistol into~battle^-the_high cost of the-arm having deterred the 
government from^extending it to other branches of the service. 

Nor did the Rangers themselves come unscathed out of the 
fights two had dropped dead out of their saddles, pierced by the 
Comanche spear; while nearly a dozen were more or less-severely 
wounded by -arrows. 

While Quackenboss was climbing the cliff, Garey and I found 
time to talk over the strange incidents to which we had been 
witness. We were-aided by explanations from below, but, with- 
out these, we had no difficulty in comprehending all. The 
Indians were a band of Comanches, as their war-cry had already 
madedsnown to us. Their arrival on the ground at that moment 
was purely«accidental, so far as we or the Mexicans were con- 
cerned; it was a war-party, and upon the^ war-trail, with the 
intention of reiving a rich Mexican town on the other side of the 
Rio Grande, some twenty leagues from the rancheria. Their 
spy had- discovered the horsemen by the mesa, and made them 
out to be Mexicans — a foe which the lordly Comanche holds in 
supreme.contempt. Not so contemptible in his eyes are Mexican 
horses, silver-studded- saddles, speckled serapes, mangas of fine 
cloth, bell-buttoned, breeches, arms, and accoutrements; and it 
was to- sweep this paraphernalia that the attack had been made; 
though hereditary hatred of the- Spanish race^-old as the Con- 
quest— and revenge for more recent, wrongs, were of themselves 
sufficient motives to have impelled the Indians to^heir hostil® 


236 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


attempt. All this we learned from one of their braves, whc 
remained wounded upon the ground, and who, upon closer ex- 
amination, turned out to be a ci-devant Mexican captive, now 
completely Indianised I 

Fortunately for the Mexican town, the- savages, thus checked, 
abandoned their. design, and return to their mountain fastnesses 
sadly humbled. 

The rest of the alfair was still of easier explanation to Garey 
and myself. Rube, as we conjectured, had- arrived safe at the 
rancheria; and in ten minutes after his story had been told,- fifty 
Rangers, with Holingsworth at their head, rode rapidly for the 
mesa. Rube had guided them with his usual craft. Like the 
Indians, they had been moving forward during the intervals of 
darkness; but, coming in the opposite direction, they had kept 
the mound between them and their, foe, and, trusting to this 
advantage, were in hopes of taking the guerrilleros by surprise. 
They had approached almost within charging distance, when the 
war-whoop of the savage sounded in their ears, and they were 
met by the retreating band. Knowing that all who came that 
way must be enemies, they delivered their fire upon the approach* 
ing-horsemen, and then galloping forward, found themselves face 
to face with the-- painted .warriors of the plains. The mutual 
surprise of- Rangers and Indians, caused by the. unexpected ren- 
contre, proved a happy circumstance for the cowardly guerrilla, 
who, during the short halt of their double pursuers, and the con- 
fused fight that followed, were enabled to gallop off beyond reach 
of pursuit. 

It was a curious conjecture what would have been the result 
had the Rangers not arrived on the ground. Certainly the In- 
dians would have rescued us from our not less savage foes. My 
companion and I might have remained undiscovered/ but we 
should have lost our precious horses. As it was, we were soon 
once more upon their backs ; and, free from all thought of peril; 
now joyfully turned our faces towards the rancheria. 


A CHAPTER OF EXPLANATIONS. 


237 


Wheatley rode by my side. Holingsworth with a party, re- 
mained upon the ground to collect the “spoils” and bury our 
unfortunate comrades. As we moved away, I turned, and for a 
moment gazed back on the scene cf strife. I saw Holingsworth 
dismounted on the plain. He was moving among the bodies of 
the five guerrilleros ; one after another, he turned them over, 
till the moon glared upon their ghastly features. So odd were 
his movements, and so earnest did he appear, that one might 
have fancied him engaged in searching for a fallen friend, or 
more like some prowling robber intent upon stripping the deadl 
But neither object was his — on the contrary, he was searching 
for a foe. He found him not. After scanning the features of 
all five, he was seen to turn away, and the unconcerned manner' 
in which he moved from the spot, told that he who was sought 
^was not among the slain. 

“ The news, Wheatley ?” 

“News, Cap! Grand news, by thunder! It appears we 
have been barking up the wrong tree — at least so thinks Presi- 
dent Polk. They say we can’t reach Mexico on this line ; so 
we’re all going to be drawn off, and shipped to some port further 
down the gulf — Yera Cruz, I believe.” 

“Ah! grand news indeed.” 

“ I don’t like it a bit,” continued Wheatley; “ the less so since 
it is rumoured that old “Rough and Reaifly” is to be recalled, 
and we’re to be commanded by that book martinet Scott. It’s 
shabby treatment of Taylor, after what the old vet has accom- 
plished. They’re afraid of him setting up for president next go. 
Hang their_ politics ! It’s a confounded shame, by thunder !” 

I could partly: understand Wheatley’s reluctance to be ordered 
upon the new line of operations. The gay lieutenant was never 
troubled with_ennui; hi$. leisure hours he contrived to pass.pleas- 
antly enough in company with Conchita, the plump, dark-eyed 
daughter of tha alcalde ; more than once, I had unwittingly: in- 
terrupted. them in their amorous dalliance. The rancheria, with 


238 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


its mod huts and dusty lanes, in the eyes of the Texan, was a 
city of gilded palaces, its streets paved with gold. It was 
Wheatley’s heaven, and Conchita was the angel who inhabited 
it. Little as either he or I had liked the post a-t first* neither of 
us desired a chaise of quarters. 

As yet, no order had arrived to call the picket in, but my 
companion affirmed that the camp-rumor was a substantial one, 
and believed that we might expect such a command at any 
moment. 

“ What say they of me ?” I inquired. 

“ Of you, Cap ? Why nothing. What do you expect them 
to say of you ?” 

“ Surely there has been some talk about my absence ?” 

“ Oh, that ! No, not a word, at least at head-quarteis, 
for the simple reason, that you’re not yet reported mis- 
sing.” 

“ Ah, that is good news ; but how ” 

“ Why, the truth is, Holings worth and I thought we might 
serve you better by keeping the thing dark — at all events, till 
we should be sure you were dead lost. We had’nt given up all 
hope. The greaser who guided you out, brought back word 
that two trappers had gone after you. From his description, I 
knew that queer old case Rube, and was satisfied that if any- 
thing remained of you he was the man to find it.” 

“ Thanks, my friend, you have acted w T ell ; your discreet con- 
duct will save me a world of mortification.” 

“ No other news ?” I inquired after a pause. 

“ No,” said Wheatley ; “ none worth telling. O yes 1” he 
continued, suddenly recollecting himself, ‘ ‘ there is a bit. You 
remember those hang dog greasers that used to loaf about the 
village when we first came? Well, they’re gone, by thunder ! 
every mother’s son of them clean vamosed from the place, and not 
a grease-spot left of them. You may walk through the whole 
settlement without seeing a Mexican, except the old meu. and 


A CHAPTER OF EXPLANATIONS. 


239 


the women. I asked the^alcalde where they had cfered to, 
but the old chap only shook his head, and drawled out nis eter- 
nal “ Quien sabe ?” Of course they ’re ofF to join some band of 
guerrillas. By thunder 1 when I think of it, I wouldn’t wonder 
if they were among that lot we have just- scattered. Sure as 
shootin, they are ! I saw Holingsworth examine the five dead 
ones as we rode off. He’ll know them, I guess, and can tell us 
if any of our old acquaintances are among them.” 

Knowing more of this matter than Wheatley himself, I en- 
lightened him as to the guerrilleros and their leader. 

“ Thought so, by thunder ! Rafael Ijurra 1 No wonder 
Holingsworth was so keen to start— in such a hurry to reach 
the mound, he forgot to tell me who we were after. Deuce take 
it I what fools we’ve been to let these fellows slide. We should 
have strung up every man of them when we first reached the 
place — we should, by thunder !” 

For some minutes we rode on in silence. Twenty times a 
question was* upon my lips, but I refrained from putting it, in 
hopes that Wheatley might have something, more to tell me — 
something of more interest that aught he had yet communicated. 
He remained provokingly* silent. 

With the design of drawing him out, I assumed a more care- 
less air and inquired : 

“ Have we had no visitors at the post ? Any one from the 
camp ?” 

“ Not a soul,” replied he, and again relapsed into medita- 
tive silence.” 

“No visitors whatever? Has no- one inquired for meV’ I 
asked, determined to comejboldly to the point. 

“ No,” was thejdiscouraging reply. “ 0,-stay : oh, ah — yes, 
indeed I” he added^ correcting himself, while I could- perceive 
that he spoke in a^eculiar tone. “ Yes, you wjre inquired for.” 

“ By. whom ?”. asked I, in a careless drawl. 

“ Well r that I-can’t tell,” answered the lieutenant in an evident 


240 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


tone of badinage ; “ but there appears to be somebody mighty 
uneasy_ about you. A slip of a Mexican boy has been back 
ward and forward something, less than a million of times. It’s 
plain somebody sends the boy ; but lie’s a close little shaver that 
same — won’t tell who sends him, or what’s his business ; he only 
inquires if you have returned, and looks dead down in the mouth 
when he’s told no. I have noticed that he comes and goes on 
the road that leads to the hacienda? 

The last words were spoken with a distinct emphasis. “We 
might have arrested the little fellow as a spy,” continued 
Wheatley, in a tone of quiet irony, “ but we fancied he might 
have been sent by some friend of yours.” 

The speaker concluded with another marked emphasis, and 
under the moonlight I could see a smile playing across his fea- 
tures. More than once I had “ chaffed ” my lieutenant about 
Couchita ; he was having his revenge. 

I was not in a mood to take offence ; my companion could 
have taken any liberty with me at that moment — his communi- 
cation had fallen like sweet music upon my ears, and I rode for- 
ward with the proud consciousness that I was not forgotten. 
Isolina was true. 

Soon after, my eyes rested upon a shining object ; it was the 
gilded vane of the little-capilla, and beneath glistened the white 
walls of the hacienda, bathed in the milky light of the moon. 
My heart beat with strange emotions as I gazed upon the 
well-known mansion, and thought of the lovely jewel whiofo 
that bright casket contained. Was she asleep ? Did she dream 
— of wnat — of whom, was she dreaming ? 


DUTCH LIGE IN A DIFFICULTY. 


241 


CHAPTER XLIY. 

DUTCH LIGE IN A DIFFICULTY. 

The soft blue light of morning was just perceptible along .the 
eastern horizon as we rode into the rancheria. I no longer felt 
hunger. Some of the more provident of the rangers had brought 
with them well filled haversacks, and made me welcome to the 
contents. From their canteens I had satisfied my thirst, and 
Wheatley, as usual, carried his free flask. 

Relieved of the protracted strain upon *my nerves— of fear 
and vigil — I felt deadly weary, and, scarcely undressing I flung 
myself upon my leathern catre and at once fell asleep. 

A few hours repose had the desired effect, and restored both 
the strength of my body and the vigour of my mind. I awoke, 
full of health and hope. A world of sweet> anticipations was 
before me. The sky and fortune were both smiling. 

I made my toilet with some care — my desayuna with less — 
and then, with lighted cigar, ascended to my favorite lounge on 
the azote a. 

The beautiful captive was in the, midst of a crowd proudly 
curving his neck, as if conscious of theadmiration he excited. 
The rangers, the poblanas, the hucksters of the plaza, even 
some sulky -leperos stood near, gazing with wondering eyes upon 
the wild horse. 

“ S-plendid present,” thought I — “ worthy the-acceptance of a 
princess !” 

It had been my intention to make the offering in person — 
hence the care bestowed upon my toilet. After more mature 
reflection, I. abandoned this design. I was influenced by a-va- 

11 


212 


THE "WAR-TRAIL. 


riety of considerations — one, among others being a delicate 
apprehension that a personal visit from me might compromise 
the-family at the hacienda. The ‘patriotic sentiment was every 
day growing more intense. Even the acceptance of a present 
was a dangerous matter ; but the. steed was not to be a gift — 
only a return for the-favourite that had fallen by my hand — and 

was not to appear in thecharacter of a donor. 

My sable groom, therefore, would convey the beautiful cap- 
tive. Already the white lazo formed into a halter, was adjusted 
around the animal’s head, and the negro only awaited orders to 
lead him away. 

I confess that at that moment I felt somewhat annoyed at the 
publicity of my affair. My rough rangers were men of keen 
intelligence. I could tell from some whispers that had reached 
me, that one and all of them- knew why I had gone upon the 
wild hunt, and I dreaded their good-humoured satire. I would 
have given something at that moment to have rendered the steed 
invisible — to have been-able to transport him to his destination, 
Yenus-like, under cover of a cloud. I thought of waiting for 
the friendly shelter of night. 

Just then, however, ami incident occurred which gave me the 
very opportunity I wanted — a scene so ludicrous, that the steed 
was no longer the cynosure of admiring eyes. The Hero of this 
scene was Elijah Quackenboss. 

Of all the men in my band, “ Dutch Lige ” was the worst clhd. 
Not that there was less money. expended upon his outward man; 
but partly from his ungainly form and loose untidy habits, and 
more, perhaps, from the wear and tear caused by his botanising 
excursions, a suit of broadcloth did not keep sound upon him for 
a . week. He was habitually in tatters. 

The_skirmish of the night had been profitable to Lige; it was 
his true^aim that had brought down^one of the. five guerrilleros. 
On his asserting this, his comrades had .laughed at it as an idle 
vaunt; but Quackenboss. proved his -assertion to be correct by 


DUTCH LIGE IN A DIFFICULTY. 


243 


picking his bullet out of the man’s body, and holding it up before 
theii ejfes. The peculiar “ bore ” of his rifle rendered the bullet 
easy of identification, and all agreed that Lige had shot his 
man. 

By the laws of ranger-war, the spoils of this particular indi- 
vidual became the property of Q.uackenboss; and the result was, 
that he had shaken off his. tattered rags, and now appeared in 
the plaza in full Mexican costume — comprising, calzoneros and 
caizoncillos, sash and seraph jacket and glazed hat, botas with 
gigantic .spurs — in -short, a complete set of ranchero habili- 
ments ! 

Never was such a pair of legs incased in Mexican velveteens 
— never were two such arms thrust into the sleeves of an em- 
broidered jaqueta ; and SQ odd was the tout ensemble of the ranger 
thus attired, that his appearance in the plaza was hailed by a 
loud burst of laughter, both from his comrades and the natives 
who stood around. Even the gloomy Indians showed their’ 
white teeth, and joined in the general chorus. 

But this was not the end. Among, other spoils, Lige had 
made-capture of a Comanche-mustang; and as his^own war-horse 
had been for a long time on the decline, this afforded him an ex- 
cellent opportunity for a remount. Some duty of the day had 
called him. forth, and he now appeared in the plaza leading the 
mustang, to which he had transferred his own saddle and bridle 
A fine handsome horse it appeared. More than one of his com 
rades envied him this splendid prize. ^ 

The laughter had scarcely subsided, when the order was givejj 
to mount; and with others, Quackenboss sprang to his horse. 
But his. hips were hardly, snug in the saddle, when the wicked 
Comanche “humped” his back and entered upon a round of 
kicking which seemed to exhibit every pose and attitude of 
equestrian exercise. First his hind-feet, then his fore ones, then all 
together, could be seen glancing in the air. Now a hoof whizzed 
past the ear of the affrighted rider, now a set of teeth threaten- 


THB WAE-IKAIU, 


244 

ed hisdhighs, while, every moment he appeared in danger of be- 
ing hurled with violence to the earth. The sombrero had long 
since parted from his head, and the rifle from his hand; and. what 
with the flapping of the wide trousers, the waving of the loose 
serapd, the dancing of the steel scabbard, the distracted motion 
of the rider’s arms, his lank streaming hair and look of terror — 
alLcombined to form a spectacle sufficiently ludicrous; and the 
whole crowd was convulsed with laughter, and the plaza, rang 
with shouts of “ Bravo ! w “ Well done, Lige 1” “ Hooraw for 

you, old beeswax 1” 

But what surprised his comrades, was the fact that Quacken- 
boss still kept his seat. It was well known that ha was the 
worst rider in the troop ; yet despite all the.doubling and fling- 
ing of the mustang, that had now lasted for several minutes, he 
was still safe in the saddle. He was winning golden opinions 
upon the strength of hie splendid horsemanship ! The rangers 
were being astonished. 

All at once, however, this,, mystery was explained, and the 
cause of his firm seat discovered. One of the. bystanders, 
sharper than the -rest, had chanced to look under the belly of 
the mustang, and the -next moment shouted out : 

“Hoy ! look yonder 1 by Greehorum, his spurs are clenched!” 

All eyes were lowered, and a fresh peal ot laughter broke 
forth from the crowd as they perceived that this was in reality 
the case. 

Lige, upon mounting — under the suspicion that the mustang 
was disposed for a fling — had clutched firmly with his legs, and 
these, on account of their extreme length, completely envelope'd 
the body of the animal, so that his heels met underneath. He 
had forgotten his- new spurs, the- rowels of which, six inches in 
diameteiv irritated the.mustang and were no doubt the cause 
of such violent kicking. These, after a few turns, had got 
“ locked,” and oficourse held Quackenboss as firmly as if he had 
been strapped to the saddle. But as the rowels were now 


A LOYEE ON THE TRAIL. 


245 


buried in the ribs of the mustang, the fierce brute, maddened 
with the pain, only grew moreiurious at each fling, and it was 
natural enough he should do his utmost to rid himself of so cruel 
a rider. 

How long he might have kept up the pitching frolic before 
his involuntary tormentor could have freed himself, is a matter 
of conjecture. It would have been an unfortunate “fix” to 
have been placed in, alone upon the prairies. 

Lige, however, found a compassionate bystander, who, having 
flung his lazo around the neck of the mustang, brought the spec- 
tacle to a termination. 


CHAPTER XLY. 

A LOVER ON THE TRAIL. 

% 

Taking advantage of the distraction caused by Quackenboss 
and his troubles, I despatched the black upon his interesting 
errand, and with no slight anxiety awaited the result. 

From my position on the roof, I saw my messenger climb the 
hill, leading the proud .steed ; and saw them enter the great 
portal of the hacienda. 

Promptly — -almost directly — the groom came out again with- 
out the horse. The present had been accepted. So farewell. 

I counted the moments, till heavy footsteps were heard upon 
the escalera, and a shining black face £ose over the roof. 

There was no letter, no message, beyond , ‘ ‘ mil gracias” 

I felt a pang of chagrin. I had expected, thanks more formal 
than This mere phrase of compliment. 

My man, appeared better, satisfied. A gold onza gleamed in 
his purple palm — a handsome perquisite. 


246 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


“ By whom given ?” I inquired. 

“ Golly, mas cap’n ! De handsomest quade.’oom gal dis mgga 
ever- see guv it.” 

Beyond a doubt, Isolina herself was the donor ! I could have 
broken-the rascal’s thick^kull but .that the queenly douceur-gavc 
proof of the^satisfaction with,which my offering had beem receiv- 
ed. Even on this iriviaDcircumstance, I built my hopes of yet 
receiving a fuller meed of thanks. 

Absorbed in these hopes, I continued ter pace the azotea 
alone. It was a die de fiesta in the raucheria. Bells had already 
commenced their clangor, and other notes of preparation fell 
upon the ear. The poblanas. appeared in their gayest attire — 
the Indians in brighten aguas, with red and purple threads twist- 
ed in their. . black hair; the. denizens of the ranchitos were pour- 
ing .into the plaza, and processions were being formed by die 
church jaranas were twanging their guitar-like music; and 
pyrotechnic machines were set up at the corners of the streets. 
Tinsel-covered ^saints were carried about on the shoulders ot 
painted maskers; and there were- Pilate and the (jenturion, and 
the Saviour — a .spectacle .absurd and. unnatural ; and yet a 
spectacle.. that may be witnessed every week in a Mexican vil- 
lage, and which, with but- slight variation, has been exhibited 
every week for_.three centuries. 

I had mo eyes for this- disgusting fanfaronade of a degrading 
superstition. Sick of the. sight, weared with the sounds, I had 
given orders for my horse to be saddled, intending to ride forth 
and seek- repose for my spirit amid the silent glades of the chap- 
paral. 

While^waiting for my steed, an . object came under my eves 
that quickened the .beatings of my pulse: my. gaze had beep/long 
turned in. one direction — upon the hacienda of Don Ramon de 
Y argas. 

Just then, I -saw energing from its. gate, and passing rapidly 
down the hill, a horse with a rider upon his back. 


a. LOVER ON THE TRAIL. 


247 


The snow-white color of-4his horse, and the- scarlet manga of 
.4ile -“rider, both, contrasting with the green of the surrounding 
^ndscape, could not escape observation even at that distance, 
and, my eyes at once caught the bright object. I hesitated not 
tojbrm my conclusion. It was the white steed I saw; and the 
rider — I . remembered the. manga as when first my eyes rested 
upon that fair form — the^rider wasdsolina. She was passing 
down the slope that stretched from the hacienda to the river 
bottom, and the .minute after the thick foliage of the platanus 
trees shrouded the shining meteor from my sight. 

I noticed that she halted a moment on the edge of the woods, 
and fancied that she gazed earnestly towards the village ; bu| 
the road she had taken led almost in the opposite direction. 

I chafed with impatience for my horse. My resolve, made on 
the Jmpulse of the moment, was to follow the white steed aid 
his scarlet-clad-rider. 

Once in the. saddle, I hurried out of the plaza, passed the 
ranchos of - yucca, and reaching the open country, pressed my 
horse into a gallop. 

My road lay up the river, through a heavily timbered bottom 
of gum and cotton woods. These were thickly beset with the 
curious tillandsia, whose silvery festoons, stretching from branch 
to branch, shrouded the sun, causing amongst the tree-trunks the 
obscurity of twdlight. 

In the, midst of one of these shadowy aisles, I met or passed 
some one; I saw that it was a Mexican boy; but the sombre light, 
and the rapidity with which I was riding, prevented me from 
noting anything more. The lad^shouted after me, uttering some 
words, which were drowned by the hoof-strokes of my horse. I 
deemed it some expression of boyish esprit , and, with out heeding 
it, rode on. Not until far out of sight and hearing did it occur 
to me that I knew the, voice and the lad. I recollected a sort 
of „ errand-boy attached to the hacienda, and whom I had seen 
more than once at the rancheria. I now remembered the badin 


248 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


age of Wheatley, and would have returned to question the youth; 
but I had left him too far in the rear. After a moment's reflec- 
tion, I .spurred on. ' 

I soon arrived at the base of the hill on which stood the 
hacienda ; and here leaving the main road, I followed a bridle- 
path that skirted the hill. A few hundred yards brought me to 
the spot where I had last observed the object of my pursuit. 
The hoof-traek of the white horse now guided me, and upon his 
trail I entered the woods. 

For some distance, it* followed a well-trodden path — a cattle 
track — but all at once it diverged from this, and struck off into 
a heavily timbered bottom, where not the semblance of path 
existed. Keeping the trace in view, I rode after. 

As I advanced, the timber grew thicker, and the path more 
difficult. A close underwood of arundinaria and sabal palms 
shut up the way and the-view; trailing roots obstructed progress 
below; while higher up, the trellis-work of llianas, bamboo briars, 
sarsaparilla, and gigantic grape-vines, rendered it necessary to 
bend down in the saddle in order to pass onward. 

To my surprise, I noticed all this. For what purpose could 
she havejehosen such a path? Was it indeed Isolina I had 
seen? A white horse and a scarlet manga are not uncommon 
things in Mexico. It might not be But the hoof-print 

I dismounted and examined it: I knew it at a glance — it was 
that of themoble steed, and the rider could be no other than 
Isolina de Vargas. " 

No longer in doubt, though still.wondering, I followed the 
tracks. For a -half mile or more the path meandered through 
thick-forest, here turning around some giant trunk, thet e diverg- 
ing to the right or left, to avoid the impervious net-work of cane3 
and llianas. 

At length it began to slope upwards ; and Lperceived by the 
ascent that I was climbing a hill. The -woods became moro 
open as I advanced — here and there alternating with-glades — the 


A LOVER ON THE TRAIL. 


249 


trees were of slenderer growth, and the foliage lighter and thin- 
ner. I was no longer among the heavy trunks of platanns 
and liquidambar. The- leguminosece were the. prevailing trees; 
and many beautiful forms of inga, acacia, and mimosa, grew 
around. Myrtles, too, mingled their foliage with wild limes, 
their branches .twined with flowering parasites, as the climbing 
eombretum, with its long flame-like clusters, convolvuli, with large 
white blossoms, and the beautiful twin-leaved bauhinia. 

It was a- wild garde u of flowers — a shrubbery of nature’s own 
planting. The- eye, wandering through the vistas and glades, 
beheld almost every form of infloresence.' There were the trum- 
pet-shaped bignonias-r-convolvuli in pendulous bells — syngenesists 
disposed iu spreading umbels ; and over them, closely set upon 
tall spikes, rose the showy blossoms of the bromelias — aloes and 
dasylyrium. Even from the tops of the highest trees hung 
gaudy- catkins, wafted to and fro by the light breeze, mingling 
their sheen and their perfume with the floral epiphytes and para- 
sites that clustered around the branches. 

I could not. help thinking that these flowers are gifted with 
life, and enjoy, during their short and transient existence, both 
pleasure and pain. The bright warm sun is their happiness, 
while the cold, cloudy sky is the reflection of their misery. 

As I rodeonward, another reflection passed through my mind ; 
it was-caused by my perceiving that the.atmosphere was*charged 
with pleasant -perfumes — literally loaded with fragrance. I per- 
ceived, moreover, that the same Jireeze carried upon its breath 
the sweet music of birds, whose notes sounded clear, soft, and 
harmonious. 

What closed slanderer hath asserted that the flowers of this 
£air land are-devoid of fragrance — that its-birds, though brightly 
plumed, are.songless ? 

Ah, Monsieur Buffon ! with all your eloquence, such presump- 
tive.- assertion will one day strip you of half your fame. You 
^oulcLnever have approached within two hundred paces of a 

11 * 


1!50 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


Stannopea, of the epidendum odoratum, of the datura grandijiora y 
with its mantle of snow-white blossoms ? You could never have 
passed near the_pathos plant, the serbereae, and tabernamon 
taneae, the callas, eugenias, ocotas, and nictiginas ? — you couid 
never have ridden through a chapparal of acacias and mimosas 
— amongA)rchids whose presence fills whole forests with fragrant 
aroma ? 

And more, Monsieur ! you could never have listened to the 
incomparable melody of the mock-bird — the full, charming notes 
of the blue song-thrush — the sweet warbling voices of the silvias, 
finches, and tanagers, that not only adorn the American woods 
with their gorgeous colors, but make them vocal with never- 
ending song ? No* Monsieur ; you could never have inhaled 
the perfume of these flowers, nor listed to the melody of these 
sweet songsters ; and sad it was of you, and silly as sad, to have 
yielded to the,. prejudice of a slender . spirit, and denied their 
existence. Both exist — the singing birds and the fragrant 
flowers — both. exist, and thou art gone. 

On suchj-eflections I dwelt but for a moment ; they were merely 
the natural impression of surrounding subjects — short-lived sensa- 
tions almost instantaneously passing away. The soul, benighted 
with love, has neither eye nor ear for aught beyond the object of its 
passion. From the contemplation of that only does it derive plea- 
sure ; and even the fairest pictures of nature may be spread be- 
fore it without challenging observation. It was only that the 
one ..through which I was passing was of such transcendent 
beauty — so like to some scene of paradise — that I could net 
help regarding it with momentary admiration. 

But my eyes soon returned to the earth, and once more taking 
up the trace of the steed, I rode on. 

I had advanced near the summit, the tracks were quite .recent ; 
the branches that had been touched by the flanks of the horse 
had not yet ceased to vibrate j the rider could not be far in ad» 
vance. -I fancied I heard the hoof-stroke. 


A LOVER ON THE TRAIL. 


251 


Silently I pressed on, ..expecting every moment to catch the 
cgf&m of the scarlet manga, or the white sheen of the steed, A 
few paces farther, and both were under my eyes, glittering 
through the feathery froudage of the mimosas. I had followed 
the true track. The rider was. Isolina. 

I saw that she had halted. She had reached the top of the 
hill, where the growth of timber ceased. An opening of about 
an. acre there was, surrouuded on all sides by the flowery woods 
— the very beau ideal of a summer glade. The open summit com- 
manded a view of the surrounding country — for the hill was a 
high one — while the charming spot itself enjoyed perfect privacy 
and repose. 

In this glade she had drawn up, and was sitting silently in the 
saddle as if to ...enjoy the warbling of birds, the hum of the bees, 
and the fragrance of flowers. 

I myself drew rein, and remained for some moments in a state 
of hesitancy, as to whether I should ride forward or go back. A 
feeling of shame was upon me, and I believe I would have turn- 
ed my horse and stolen gently away, but just then I saw the 
fair rider draw forth from her bosom something that glittered in 
the sun. It was a watch, and she appeared to note the time. 
I observed that she looked anxiously over the tops of the low 
trees, in the direction of the plain below. 

These circumstances, trivial as they might appear, produced 
within me a quick sense of pain. I felt as if hot steel was pass- 
ing through my heart. I had ridden- to my ruin — I had follow- 
ed to be present at an assignation. Thus only could I explain 
the solitary ride, and by such.. difficult and devious paths ; thus 
only could. I account for the oft-repeated anxious glance, the ear 
acutely bent. Beyond a doubt, she was listening for the foot- 
steps of a lover 1 

The rein fell from my fingers. I sal irresolute — I scarcely 
breathed — my heartfelt cold and feeble — the birds mocked me 


252 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


— the parrots,, screeched his name — the ara% in hoarse concert 
cried out “Jjurra !” 

The name ..nerved me, as -blood knits the sinews of the tiger. 
Once more my fingers closed upon my briddle, my feet became 
firm in the stirrups, and heart and arm swelled to their full 
strength. ’Twas but a light rapier that hung against my thigh 
— no matter ; he might be no better weaponed : and even armed 
from head to heel, I feared him not. Three, passions — hatred, 
jealousy and revenge — supplied an arm of treble strength, and 
under the influence of these I felt bold and sure of conquest. 
Yes ! I felt at that moment, as though I could have slain my 
hated rival with mf naked hands. 

I was no longer troubled with scruples of etiquette. N o ; this 
monster owed me .satisfaction— 1 dife itself : he had striven to take 
mine ; and now his should be forfeit to my vengeance. On that 
spot-— even in her presence — should he die^r I myself become 
the victim. The two of us should never go thence alive. “ Oh, 
that he may reach the ground while my blood is thus hot, and 
my hand ready ?” 

The fierce thoughts stirring within me must have roused my 
horse, for at that moment he tossed his head and neighed wildly. 
A response came like an echo from the glade, and the instant 
after a voice -called out : 

“ Hola ! quien va 

Concealment was no longer possible. I saw that I wa^ ob- 
served ; and, spurring my horse into the open ground, cam<* faca 
to face with Isolina. 























































































































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J . 




















— 4 





















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• . 















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A Declaration on Horseback. — Face to face with my beautiful brunette. Her eyet 
fell upon me in an expression of surprise. I felt abashed by the glance ; my conduct 
was not en regie. I bethought me of an apology. What excuse could I offer for such 
unceremonious intrusion? Accident? She would not believe it ; the time and plan, 
rore against. simh a supposition. — Pace 258 . 




A DECLARATION ON HORSEBACK. 


253 


CHAPTER XL VI. 

A DECLARATION ON HORSEBACK. 

Face to face with my beautiful brunette. Her eyes fell 
upon me in an expression of surprise. I felt abashed by the 
glance ; my conduct was not en regie. I bethought me of an 
apology. What excuse could I offer for such, unceremonious in- 
trusion ? Accident? She wouldmot believe it ; the time and 
the place were against such a supposition. With an intellect like 
hers, it would be idle to adopt so shallow an artifice No ; I 
would not dissemble ; I would boldly avow the truth. Jealousy 
had rendered me reckless of the result. 

“ Adios, cavallero /” said she, interrupting my hurried reflec- 
tions. “ Carrambo ! where is your guide ? How have you 
found this place ?” 

“ Easily enough, senorita ; I followed the tracks of your 
horse.” 

“ But so soon — I did not expect you” 

“ No ; you expected another ?” 

“ Ce^ainly. I thought Cyprio woulcLarrive before you ” 

“ Cyprio 1” 

“ Cyprio — yes r ~Cyprio.” 

“ Senorita ! if this be another name for your- Protean cousin, 
I have to say it will be better for him he should not arrive at 
all” 

“ My cousin ?— better not arrive ? Holy Trinity, capitan J I 
do not comprehend you 1” 

Her large brown eyes were rolling in* astonishment. I was 


254 : 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


a.s much^puzzled as she, but I had . begun my explanation and 
was. determined to carry it to the end. 

“ Then . Senorita de Yargas, I shall be more explicit^ If 
RafaeL Ijurra appear upon this ground, either he or I leaves it 
not alive. He has attempted my life, and I have vowed to take 
his, whenever and wherever I may meet him.” 

“Pray heaven you may keep your vow 1” 

“Your cousin V 

“My cousin — Rafael Ijurra — my~worst foe — the direst enenjy 
of our house 1” 

“ Ha ! but were you not awaiting him ?” 

“ Awaiting him ! Ha, ha, ha 1 No. Little -timid thought 
be, I should not desire to be here alone with Rafael Ijurra.” 

“ Lady ! you astonish me ; pray explain ” 

“ For dios ! gallant., capitan, ’tis you who need- explain. I 
sought this interview to thank you for your, noble gift. Yon 
meet, me with anger in your eye, and bitter words upon your 
tongue.” 

“ You sought this interview ?-^say you so, lady ?” 

“ Certainly I did. For reasons already known to you, I 
dared not invite you to our house ; so I have chosen this pretty 
glade for my drawing-room. How do you like it, cavallero ?” 

“ In your society, senorita, the rudest spot would appear a 
paradise ” 

“ Again the poet’s tongue 1 Ah, capitan, remember the yel- 
low domino ! No more, flattery, I pray ; we are no lqpger en 
masque. Face to.face, let us be candid with each other.” 

“ With alljny heart I accept the conditions. Candor is the 
very thing I desire, for to say the truth, I came prepared for a 
confession.” 

“ A_confession I” 

“ Preciselyso ; but since you are an advocate for candour, may 
l first ask a.question ?” 

“ Ho ! you wish to play the confessor with me ?” 


A DECLARATION ON HORSEBACK. 


255 


“ I do, senorita.” 

Bravo, capitan ! Proceed ! I shalLanswer you in all sin- 
cerity.^ 

“ Then, lady, what I would ask— * Who is this Cyprio whom 
you expected ?” 

“ Cyprio ! .Ha, ha, ha I Who should.Cvprio be but my-mozo ; 
he who carried my message to. you. Why do you put such a 
question ?” 

“ He who carried your message to me ?” 

“ Of course. Yonder is the muchacho himself. Hola, Cyprio! 
you may return to the»house. Carrambo, capitan } both- he and 
you must have sped well. I did not expect you for half an hour ; 
but you soldiers are soon in the saddle. So much the better, for 
it is getting late, and I have a great deal to say to you.” 

A light had broken upon me. ’Twas Cyprio I had-passed in the 
forest shade ; theJooy was theUbearer of a message — hence his 
having hailed me. ’Twas I who was expected to keep the assig- 
nation ; ’twas I for whom the timepiece had been consulted — for 
whom those earnest glances had been given ! The bitter moments 
were.- past, and my heart swelled anew with proud and pleasant 
emotions. As yet she knew not that I had come without invi- 
tation. Cyprio, at the word of command, had gone off without 
making any reply, and my prompt appearance upon the ground 
was left unexplained. 

I was about to account for it, and offer some apology for my 
brusque behavior, when I was challenged to the confession I had 
just promised. 

Minor thoughts gave way before the important, purpose I had 
formed, and toAvhich the, banter now recalled me. So fair an 
opportunity might never offer again. In the vicissitudes of a sol- 
dier’s .life, the chance of to-day should not be- disregarded — to- 
morrow may bring change either in the scene or the circum- 
stances ; and I was skilled enough in. love-lore to, know that an 
hour unimproved is often followed by an age of regrets. 


256 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


Bat, in truth, I do some .wrong to my character ; I was but 
little* under the influence of such cunning cognizance at that 
moment. 1 acted not by volition, but rather under pressure of 
a passion that held complete mastery over my will, and compelled 
me to the. declaration I was about to make. 

It was simple enough—three little words in either of the two 
sweet tongues in which we. understood -each other. I chose the 
one — of all others most attuned to the tones of the loving heart 
— and bending, low. to that -fair, face, and gazing into the liquid 
depths .of those Jarge inquiring eyes, I whispered the sweet, 
though oft-repeated,phrase : 

“ Yoteamo” 

The words quivered upon my lips, but their tone proved the 
sincerity in which I had spoken. No- doubt it was further 
manifest by the earnestness of my^manner as I awaited her 
reply . 

The habitual smile had departed from her lips ; the damask 
red deepened and rose. higher upon her cheeks ; the dark fringes 
drooped downward, and half-concealed the burning orbs beneath: 
the face of the gay girl had suddenly assumed the serious air of 
womanhood. 

At first, I was-ierrified by the expression, and could- scarcely 
control my dread ; but. I drew hope from the flushed cheek, the 
roseate neck, the swelling panting bosom. Emotions were stir- 
ring in that breast. Oh, what emotions ! will she not speak? 
Will she not declare them ? 

There was a long interval of silence — to me, it seemed an 
age. 

“ Senor,” she said at length — Twas the first time I had heard 
that voice tremble — “Senor, you promised to be candid ; you 
have been- so : are you equally sincere V’ 

“ I have spoken from the depth of my soul.” 

The long lashes were raised, and the love light gleamed from 
her liquid eyes ; for a moment it burned steadily, bathing 


A DECLARATION ON HORSEBACK. 


257 


my heart as with balm. Heaven itself could not have shed a 
brighter Jbeam upon njy. spirit. 

All at once ajsraile played upon her. features, in which I 
detected, or fancied so, the gay insouciance that springs from 
indifference. To me it was another moment of pain. She con- 
tinued : 

“And r pray, capitan, what would you have me do ?” 

I felt embarrassed, and replied not. 

“Would you have me declare that I love you?” 

“Gh ! you cannot — ^you do-not” 

“ You have-not asked the question 1” 

“No, lady. L dreaded the answer.” 

“Hoi what a coward you have grown of late? A pity I 
am not-masked. Shall I. draw this veil? Ha, ha, ha 1” 

It wasmofc the manner of love. sLove laughs- not. My heart 
was -heavy ; I made no reply, but with-eyes upon the ground, sat 
in my saddle, feeling like one- condemned. 

For some moments her-laughter rang in my ears, as I fancied, 
ln.mockery. The sweet silvery voice only grated upon my heart. 
Oh, that I had never . listened to its siren, tones I 

I heard the Jioof-stroke of her horse ; and, looking up, saw 
that she was moving, away from the spot. Was she going to 
leave me Ah us ? 

She spurred towards the centre of the glade, where the 
ground was higher, and there again pulled up. 

“ Come hither, cavallero I” she cried, “ beckoning to me with 
her small gloved hand.” 

Mechanically I rode up to the spot. 

“ So gallant capitan I you who are brave enough to meet a 
score of foes, have- not the courage to ask a woman if she loves 
you I” 

A dismal-smile was my only-reply to this bitter badinage. 

“ Ah l capitan,” she continued, “ I will not believe it j ,er« 


258 


THE WAR- TRAIL. 


now you have put that dreaded interrogatory — ofterv, I fear, too 
ofteu.” 

I looked at her $ith“ surprise. There was a touch of- bitter- 
ness in the. tone. The gay smile was gone ; her eyelids drooped ; 
her. look was turned upon the ground. 

(Vas this real, or ouly a seeming ? the- prelude to some abrupt 
antithesis ? some fresh outburst of satire ? 

V Senorita !” said I, “ the hypothesis, whether true or fai^e 
can ha v e but little interest for you.” 

She. answered me with a -smile of strange intelligence. I fan- 
cied there was sadness in it. I -fancied 

“We cannot recover the past,” said she, interrupting my 
thoughts ; “ no, no, no 1 But for the present-— say again — 
tell me again that you love me 1” 

“ Love you I^yes lady ” 

“ And I have your- heart, your -whole heart ?” 

“Never — can I love -another 1” 

‘ ‘ Thanks,* thanks !” 

“No more than thanks, Isolina?” 

For some -moments she remained silent, her eyes averted from 
me ; she appeared struggling with some emotion. 

“Yes,- more than- thanks,” she replied at length; “three 
things more — if they wilksuffice to-prove my gratitude.” 

“ Name them !” 

“ Why should, prudery tie my tongue ? I promised to be can- 
did. I too ..came here to make confessiou. Listen ! Three 
things I have said. Look jafound you !^r-north, south, east, and 
west— the Jand you see isanine ; be it yours, if you will.” 

“Isolina!” 

This, too, can I -bestow 77 — she held forth her little hand, whicD 
I clasped with fervid emotion. 

“And the third ?” 

“The third, on second thoughts, I cannot give; 7 tis yours 
already/l^ 


STRAYED FROM THE TRACK. 


259 


Mia, corazon ” (My heart). 

"Those splendid, steeds, like creatures of intelligence, appeared' 
tt - understand jvhat was said ; they had gradually moved closer 
andf closer, till their muzzles touched and their steel curbs rang 
together. At the last words, they came side by side, as if yoked 
in a chariot. It appeared delight to them to press their proud 
heaving flanks against each other, while their riders closing in 
mutual clasp, leaned over and met their lips in that wild fervid 
kiss which forms the climax of love. 


CHAPTER XLVII. 


TRAYED FROM THE TRAC 


* We paiied upon the top of the hill ; it was not prudent for 
us to beJseen together. Isolina rode away first, leaving me in 
the glade. We bade adieu in that phrase of pleasant promise, 
11 hasta, la, manana,” (until to-morrow). To-morrow we should 
meet -again. To-morrow, and. to-morrow, we should visit that 
sweeLspot, repeat our burning words, renew our blissful vows. 

1 remained some minutes on the ground, now hallowed and 
holy. Within, the tumult of triumphant passion had passed, and 
was succeeded by the calm repose of perfect -contentment. My 
heart’s longings had been "ratified ; it had found- all that it 
desired— i-even to the full reciprocity of its-passion. What . would 
it more ? There is no .more of mundane bliss. Life has no 
facility to -cope with*requited love ; it . alone can give us a fore- 
taste of future joys ; by it alone may we .form some idea of the 
angel existence of-heaven. 

The world without was in harmony with the spirit within 


260 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


The scene around me was rose-color. The flowers appeared 
fresher in tint, and breathed a sweeter fragrance in the air ; the 
hum of the homeward „bee, laden with - treasures for his love 
queen, fell with a dreamy pleasure upon the ear : the voices of 
the birds sounded softer and more, musical ; even the aras and 
perrdqiKfts," chanting in more subdued tone, no longer pronounced 
that -bated name ; and the tiny Mexican dove *— las palomitas, 
scarcely so large as finches — walked with proud gait over the 
ground, or side by side upon the branches of the myrtles— dike 
types of tender love — told their hearth tale in soft and amorous 
cooing. 

Long could I have lingered by that consecrated spot, even 
hasta la manana, but duty claimed me, and its calls must not be 
disregarded. Already the setting sun was Jflinging purple bea ms 
over the distant prairie ; and, heading my horse down the hill, I 
once more plunged under the shadows of the mimosas. 

Absorbed in my supreme happiness, I took no heed of aught 
else ; I -noticed neither-track nor-path. 

Had I left myhorse to himself, most likely he would have 
taken the.right road ; but in my, .reverie, perhaps I had mechan- 
ically dragged upon the rein, and turned him from it. Whether 
or not, after a. lapse of time, I found myself in the midst of thick 
woods, with not the semblance of a trail to guide me ; and I 
knew not whether I wasLriding in the right direction. I ought 
rather to say that I knew the contrary— else I should long since 
have reached the clearings around the village. 

Without much reflection, I turned in a new direction, and rode 
for some time without striking a trail. This led me once more 
into doubt, and I made head back again, but still without suc- 
cess. I was in a forest plain, but Leonid find no path leading 
anywhere ; and amid the underwood of palrnettoes I could not 
see any„ great distance around me. Beyond a question, I tad 
Btrayed-far out of my way. 

At an early hour of the day, this would have given me little con- 


STRAYED FROM THE TRACK. 


261 


cern ; but the sun had now set, and, already, under the shadow 
of the moss-covered trees, it was nearly dark. Night would be 
down ;n a few minutes, and in all probability I should be obliged 
to spend it in the forest^-by no means an agreeable prospect, 
and the less so that I was thinly clad and hungry. True, I 
might pass some hours in sweet reflection upon the pleasant tnci- 
dent of the .day — I might dream rosy dreams — but, alas 1 the 
soul is sadly under the influence of the body ; the spiritual must 
ever yield to the physical, and even love itself becomes a victim to 
the vulgai^appetite of hunger. 

I began to fear that, after all, I should havebut a sorry night 
of it. I should be l£oo hungry to think ; too cold either to 
sleep or dream ; besides, I was likely to get wet to the shirt : the 
rain had commenced faljiig in large heavy drops. 

After another unsuccesJul.effort to strike a trail, I pulled up 
and satjistening. My. eye£ would no longer avail me ; perhaps 
Tny ears might do better sen ice. 

And so it chanced. The report of a rifle reached them, appar- 
sntly fired some hundred, yards off in the woods. 

Considering that I was upon hostile ground, such a sound 
might have caused me alarm ; but I knew from the sharp whip- 
like crack that the piece was a hunter’s rifle, and no Mexican 
ever handled a gun of that kind Moreover, I, heard, closely 
following upon the shot, a dull concussion, as of some heavy 
body dropped from a high elevation to the ground. I was hun- 
ter enough to know the signification of this sound. It was the 
game-bird or beast — that had .fallen to the bullet. 

An American must have fired that shot ; but who ? There 
were only three or four of the rangers who carried the hunter’s 
r ifl e — a very different weapon from the “regulation ” piece — old 
backwoodsmen who had been- indulged in .their whim. It might 
be one of these. 

Without hesitation, I headed my horse for the spot, and rode 
as rapidly as the underwood would permit me. I certainly must 


262 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


have passed the place where the shot had been fired, and yet I 
saw-no one ; but .just as I was about to pull up again, a well 
known voice reached me from behind with the words : 

“ Jumpin Geehosophat ! it fir the young -fellur !” 

Turning, I .beheld ray trapper comrades just- emerging fro m 
the bushes, where they had cautiously cached on hearing the 
hoof-strokes of my horse. 

Rube carried upon his shoulders a large turkey gobbler — the 
game I had heard drop — while upon Garey’s back I observed 
the choice portions of a deer. 

“ You have been foraging to some advantage,” I remarked, as 
they came up. 

“ Yes,, capt'n,” replied Garey, “ we wont want for rashuns. 
Not but that your rangers offered us a plenty to eat ; but ye see 
we couldn't in honor accept o' it, for we promised to find for our- 
selves.” 

“ Ye-es, durn it !” added Rube, “ we’re iree.-monntainee men 
— ain’t a-gwine to-sponge on nobody — we ain't.” 

“An, -capt’n,” continued Garey, “thar- don’t appear to be 
any great. eatin fixins about the place for - yurself : if yu'll just 
accept o’ the-turkey, an one o’ these hyar quarters o’ the- deei~ 
meat, thar's plenty left for Rube an me ; ain’t thar, Rube ?” 

“Gobs !” was the laconic, answer. 

I was not loth to satisfy the wish of the hunters — for to say 
the troth, the village. larder had no such delicacies as either wild 
turkey or venison — and having signified my assent, we all three 
moved away from the spot. With the trappers for my guides, 
I should soon get into the right road. They, too, were on their 
return to the post. They had been in the woods since noon. 
They were both afoot, having left their horses at the raneheria. 

After winding about half a mile among the trees, we came 
out upon a narrow road ; here my ^companions, who were unac- 
quainted with the neighborhood, were at fault as well as myself ; 
they knew not which direction to take. It was dark as pitch. 


STRAYED FROM THE TRACK. 


263 


but, as Ok the night before, there was lightning at intervals. 
Unlike the -preceding night, however, it was -now raining as if 
all the sluices of the sky had been set open ; and by this time 
we were all three of us soaking wet. The whole canopy of 
heaven was shrouded in black, without a single streak of light 
upon it — not even a star. Who could discover the direction in 
such a night ? 

As the lightning flashed, I saw Rube bending down over the 
road ; he appeared to be examining the tracks. I noticed that 
there were .wheel-tracks— deep ruts — evidently made by the rude 
block-wheels of a carreta. It was these that the trapper was 
scanning. 

Almost as soon as a- nian could have read the direction from 
a finger-post, Rube raised himself erect and crying out : 

“ All right — this way 1’’ set off along the road. 

I was curious to know how he had determined the point, 
and questioned him. 

“ Wal, yur see, young fellur, it ur the trail o’ a Mexikin cart ; 
an anybody as iver seed th-et ur vamint knows it hez got only 
two wheels. But thur are^four tracks, hyur, an.thurfor the cart 
must a gone back anfo’th, for I seed they wur the same set o’ 
wheels. Now, ? tur raizonable to s’pose thet the- back-track leads 
to the settlements, an thet’s-tliis away.” 

“ But how could you tell which was the back-track ?” 

“Waghl thet- ur easy as failin’ off a log. The back- track 
ur the-fresher by more’n a 1su|)pte o’ hours.” 

Pondering upon the singular “instinct” that enabled our 
guide to distinguish the tracks, I. rode on in silence. 

Shortly after, I again heard the voice of Rube, who was some 
aces in advance. 

“I Tend a.knowd the way,” he said, u, ithout the wheel- 
tracks : they only made things more sartint sure.” 

“ How ?” I asked. “ What other clue had you V* 

“The water,” replied he ; “’eesee, or ’ce-moilt^ efi you’d a 


264 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


looked into the tracks, thet it ur runnin’ this-away. Do ’ee hear 
th.et thur ?” 

I listened. I heard distinctly the sound of running water, as 
of a small stream carried down a rough rocky channel. 

“ Yes — I kear it.” 

“ Wal,” continued the . trapper, “ it ur a branch made by the 
rain : we’re a follerin’ \V-down ; an tliuriror must kum to the river 
jest whur we want to git. Oncest -thur, we’ll soon find our 
way, I reck’n. Wagh ! how the durned rain kums down I It 
? ud drown a muss-rat. -Wagh 1” 

The result- proved the trapper’s reasoning correct. The 
road-water was running in the direction we had taken ; and 
shortly -after, the brawling, branch. shot out from among the 
bushes, and crossed our path, diverging from it at an acute augle. 
We could see, however, as we. plunged through the now swollen 
streamlet, that the current, in its general direction, was the 
same with our road : it would certainly guide us to the river. 

It did so. Half a mile further on we came out upon its banks, 
and struck the -main road leading to the rancheria. 

A few minutes’ brisk travelling carried us to the outskirts of 
the village, when we were all three brought to a sudden halt by 
the sharp hail of the sentry, who called out the usual interro- 
gatory : 

“ Who goes there ?” 

“Friends 1” I replied; “ ’tis you, Quackenboss ?” I had 
recognized the voice of the soldier-botanist, and under the light- 
ning, saw him standing by the trunk of a tree. 

“ Halt ! Give the countersign !” was the response in a firm 
determined tone. 

I did not know this masonic pass-word. On riding out, I had 
not thought of such a thing, and I began to anticipate some trou- 
ble. I resolved, however to make trial of the sentry. 

“ I hav’n’t got the countersign. ’Tis I, Quackenboss. I 


am 


6TRAYED FROM THE TRACK. 


265 


I announced my. name and rank. 

“ Don’t care for all that 1” was the somewhat surly rejoinder, 
“ can’t pass ’ithout the countersign.” 

li Yer durned fool, it’s yur captain,” cried Rube, in a peevish 
tone. 

” May be,” replied the imperturbable sentry ; “ can’t let him 
pass ’ithout countersign.” 

I now saw we were in a real dilemma. 

“ Send for the corporal of the guard, or either of the lieuten 
ants,” I suggested, thinking 'that that might be the shortest 
way to get out of it. 

“ Hain’t got nobody to send,” came the gruff voice of Quack- 
enboss from out the darkness. 

“ I’ll go !” promptly answered Garey — the big trapp r think- 
ing, in his Junocence, there could be no reason why he should not 
carry the^message to quarters — and as he spoke he made a step 
or two forward in the direction of the sentinel. 

“ Halt there 1” thundered the voice of Quaekenboss ; “ halt 
another step, and I’lLplug you with a bullet.” 

“ What’s-thet ?. plug he-sez ?” screamed Rube, leaping to the 
front. “ Geeho Geehosophat ! vu’ll plug.’im, eh ? Yur durued 
mulehead, if ’ee shoot this way, it’ll be the last time yu’ll ever 
lay claws to a trigger. Now then I” and Rube stood with his 
rifle half raised to the level, and threatening to raise it still 
higher. 

At that -moment, the Jightning gleamed ; I saw the sentry 
with his piece also at a level. I well knew the accuracy of his 
aim ; I trembled for the result. In my loudest voice I 
called out : 

** Hold,- Quackenboss L hold your fire! we shall wait till 
some one comes and as I spoke, I caught both my companions, 
and drew them back. 

Whether it was the commanding .tone of my voice, which the 
ranger had heard before, or whether in the light he had recog- 

12 


2G6 


THE WAR-TEAIL. 


nized my features, I saw him, before it darkened, lower his piece, 
and I felt easy again. 

But he still obstinately refused to let us pass. Further par- 
ley was to no purpose, and only led to an exchange of rather 
rough compliments between Quackenboss and my- two compan- 
ions ; so after endeavoring to make peace between them, I stood 
still to await the chance of some one of the guard coming within 
hail. 

Fortunately, at that moment, a ranger somewhat ttie worse 
for aguardiente, appeared in the direction of the plaza. 

Quackenboss condescended to call him up ; and after a 
crooked palaver, he was dispatched to bring the corporal of the 
guard. 

The arrival of the latter ended our troubles, and we were per 
mitted to reach the plaza without further hindrance ; but a$ 
we passed the stern- sentry, I could hear Rube mutter to him • 
“ Ee durned mulehead ! ef I hed ye out upon the parairas, 
wudn’t I ? Wagh 1” 


CHAPTER XLYIII. 

AN ADI0S. 

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow- -a- demilune of 
love, whose every hour was. consecrated to its god. At earliest 
dawn, by the rosy rays of Aurora ; at golden noon, shadowed 
under sweet . acacias ; in the gleam of the purple twilight, ’neath 
the silvery light of the moon. 

That both laid our hearts upon his altar, and willing knelt 
before the shrine, witness ye bright birds and balmy flowers \X 


AN ADIOS. 


267 


ye green myrtles and mimosas 1— witness ye blue skies of Ana- 
liuac 1 Ye alone were our. witnesses. 

For you who have loved, I need not portray the pleasure of this 
noble .passion ; for you who have not loved, I cannot. Love is 
a delight that may be known only to those who have experienced 
it. 

Ours was a half-month of happiness without alloy. True, 
there were moments of pain — the moments of daily parting — but 
these were brief, and perhaps only prevented the cloyment of too 
much joy — if such a thing be possible. Moreover, these short- 
lived sorrows were in part neutralized by the knowledge we 
should soon meet again ; we never parted without exchanging 
that fair promise. In the morning, it was “ hasta la tarde at 
night, . our last words were “ manana jtor lamanana” Lovers 
have felt, and poets have sung, the pleasures of hope ; oft the 
anticipation of a pleasure rivals in piquancy its actual enjoy- 
ment. 

Let memory not be forgotten ; it, too, has its- joys ; and oh, 
how sweet the retrospect of those blissful hours ! If there was 
monotony, it was a mouotony of which my heart could never tire. 
Jt was an intoxication I could have endured for life. There is no 
surfeit of such sweets. Why are we not permitted to enjoy 
them for- ever ? Alas ! there is an ending. 

There was-so. A crisis came, and we must part — not with the 
pretty promise upon our lips — “ until the morning,” “until the 
evening,” but for- long weeks, months, maybe years — an uncer- 
tain Aime — “ hasta seacabo la guerra” (until the war is over). 

Oh, the ^misery of that parting 1 Cruel -destiny of war! 
Never felt I so-weary of wearing a sword. 

There was a struggle.Twixt love, and duty. No, not duty : I 
might have. sheathed .my sword, and wronged no one ; I was but 
a -cipher among, thousands, whose blade would scarcely have been 
missed. Nor would I have wronged myself. I was simply, as 
I have-already declared, an adventurer. The country /or-which 


268 


THE WAR- TRAIL. 


I fought-could cot claim me ; I was bound by no political con- 
science, no patriotic esprit . Perhaps, now and then, I entertained 
the idea that I was aiding the- designs of “ manifest destiny ” — 
that I was doing God’s work in battling against the despotic 
form. Yes, I may confess that such sparks glowed within me at 
intervals, and at such intervals only did I feel' enthusiasm in the 
cause. But it was no- consideration of this- kind that hindered 
me from deserting my banner. Far otherwise : I was influenced 
by a motive purely selfish^-pride. 

I could not — an adventurer almost penniless — I would not pre- 
sume to claim that richly doweried-hand. Fortune I might never 
has r e to equal hers, but fame is worthy wealth, and glory mates 
with beauty. I knew that I was gifted with an apt head and 
a bold aspiring heart ; I knew that I carried a keen blade, and 
hoped to hew my way ta rank and fame. Perhaps I might 
return with a star upon my shoulder, and a better handle to my 
name, and then 

Ah, for all -that, it was a bitter parting ! It was hard to list 
unheeding to those earnest, entreaties, adjuring me to stay — ter- 
rible to untwine those tender arms— terrible to utter that last 
adios ! 

Our troth was plighted within that same galde that had echoed 
our first vows. It had been plighted a hundred times, but never 
sadly as now, amidst sobs and tears. When the bright form, 
screened by the frondage, had passed out of sight, I felt as if the 
sun had become suddenly eclipsed. * * * 

I lingered not long, though I could have stayed for hours upon 
the hallowed spot. Agaip duty, that stern .commander, sum- 
moned me away. It was. already close upon sunset, and by to- 
morrow’s dawn I must b e. en route with my troop. 

I was aboutheading my horse into the -track, now, well known 
to me ; -Isolina had gone down the hill on the opposite side, by 
a path that led more directly to the hacienda. Fronupreeaution, 
this had been our habitual mode of parting ; and we also met 


AN ADIOS. 


269 


from opposite sides. In the wild region of the ccrro — for by 
this- name was the hill Known — we never encountered a^ human 
being. There was no- habitation near, and the vaqueros rarely 
strayed that way, so that our place of meeting remained a secret 
— at least we fancied so — and we acted without much apprehen 
sion, and perhaps without sufficient caution. Each hour we had 
grown more confident of security, and, blinded by love, had 
taken less -pains to conceal the fact of our daily assignation. 
It was only that morning I had heard a whisper that our affair 
was-known, and thatthey of the rancheria were not as benighted 
as we supposed them. Wheatley was my- informant-^-Conchita, 
his. The lieutenant had added some friendly advice, cautioning 
me against the imprudence of going so far from the post unat- 
tended. 

Perhaps I might have, treated his, remonstrance with less 
neglect ; but as this was to be our last meeting for a long time, 
my heart grew heavy under the prospect of the parting scene. 
I preferred going companionless ; I had no apprehension that 
any enemy was near. As for Ijurra, he was no longer in the 
neighborhood ; he had not been seen since the night of the 
battle, and we had positive-information that he.joined his band 
with the .guerrilla of the celebrated. Canales — then operating on 
the_ road bet weemCamargo and Monterey. Indeed had Ijurra 
been near, he could hardly have-. escaped the keen - search of 
Holiugsworth and the gangers, who, night and day, had been 
upon the~scout, in hopes of -overhauling him. 

I was about turning into the old track, when a yearning came 
over me — a ilesire to .obtain one more look at my beloved. By 
this time she would have reached her home ; I should pass near 
the . house ; perhaps I might see her upon the azotea — a distant 
glance — a wave of the hand— haply the sweet, prayer, “ va con 
Dios wafted upon the breeze : something of the kind I antici 
pated. 

My horse seemed to divine my wishes ; scarcely waiting for 


270 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


the guidance of the rein, bit moved forward upon the path taken 
by the steed of Isolina. 

I soon reached the bottom of the hill, and, entering the heavy 
timber, traversed a tangled wood— similar to that on the other 
side of the cerro. There was no path, but the tracks of the 
white steed were easily, followed, and, guiding myself by them I 
rode forward. 

1 had not gone five hundred yards from the hill, when I heard 
voices echoing through the woods, directly in front of me, and 
apparently at no great distance. Years of frontier life had 
imbibed me with an intuitive caution that resembled instinct ; 
and as if by a mechanical effort, I pulled up and listened. 

A woman was speaking ; and instantly I-recognized the voice. 
There was but one that rang with that rich metallic tone. I 
might well remember it, for the sweet, sad sounds of the va con 
Dios had not yet ceased to vibrate in my ears. 

With whom was she in converse ? Whom had she encoun- 
tered in such a place, amid the wild woods ? 

She ceased speaking. With ears keenly set, I listened for the 
rejoinder. Naturally, I expected it in the voice of a man ; but 
not that man. 0 heavens 1 it was the voice of Rafael Ijurra I 


CHAPTER X L I X 

THREATS. 

Yes, the voice was Jjurra’s. I knew it well. While -listening 
to it by the mesa, I had r noted its tones sufficiently to remember 
them — round, sonorous, of true Spanis.h.~accent, and not- inhar- 
monious, though at that moment they grated harshly upon my 


THEEATS. 


271 


An indescribable feeling came over me : it was not jealousy — . 
1 was toa~confident to be jealous — and yet, I shame to confess 
I felt a sensation sadly akin to it. After those earnest, oaths, 
those. tears and frenzied kisses, so soon after ! 0 shame upon me! 

Alas ! the experienced 4ieart no more enjoys the tranquil 
continuity of faith. Its belief is like a broken dream — an inter- 
mittence of light and shade. It was my misfortune, my error, 
perhaps my crime, to remember too many pairs of pretty per- 
jured lips. 

In a- word, I was ^ once more jealous, in spite of all that had 
passed — of sighs, and tears, and plighted vows — once more jea- 
lous of'Ijurra 1 

But the. moment-before, his name was on her tongue, and spo- 
ken with scorn ; in the same breath I was assured that he was 
no longer in the neighborhood, that he was far away. 

No; he was upon the. spot, in close. conversation with her, 
and/scarcely five minutes after the oath had beeu sworn that 
bound her to me for life 1 ) Less wonder I was jealous. 

That the feeling lasted only for an instant might be some 
palliation, but it was no merit of mine that brought it so quickly 
to a -termination. I cannot screen my conduct behind an act of 
volition ; for although the poisoned sting rankled but for a few 
moments, during that short period I yielded obedience to its 
demoniac promptings. 

I .slipfdown gently from my saddle, and with the crouching 
gait and silent tread of the jaguar, approached the speakers. 
My horse, well trained to such tactics, stayed where I had dis- 
mounted, without tie or hopple. No fear that his hoof would 
betray me 

Step by step I advanced, with my hands cautiously parting 
the boughs. The fronds of a curious sabal. palm befriended 
me. They grew vertically on short petioles, like large green 
fans ; and overlaying one another, formed a perfect screen, 


272 


THE WAE-TKAIL. 


through which the keenest eye could not perceive the approach 
of an intruder. 

In a few seconds, I -stood behind the last row that bounded 
the .edge of a small opening; and peering through the- serrate 
interstices of the. leaves, I saw my betrothed and her- cousin. 
Isolina was-still in the saddle. Ijurra was oir-foot, and stand- 
ing by her stirrup, with one hand resting upon the pommel, the 
other grasping the reiii. 

TJp to this moment, my heart had continued its painful throb- 
bing ; but the attitude of Jjurra, with his troubled and angry 
look, at once produced a revulsion in my feelings. I saw that 
the encounter had been accidental — at least on the part of 
Isolina ; I saw that she was -detained. I could uot see her face; 
it was turned in the opposite direction, and towards Ijurra; 
but the tones of her voice reached me, and by these I perceived 
that she addressed him in anger. Oh, how those accents of 
indignation ravished my heart ; sweeter were they to me than 
the softest melody ! 

As yet, I had heard nothing of what had passed between them ; 
the loud beating of my heart, the rustling of the leaves undei 
my feet, of the boughs as I pressed through them, had prevented 
me from distinguishing what was said. These sounds ceased as 
1 came to a stop ; andjilthough still fifty paces distant from the 
speakers, I could catch every word of their conversation, from 
the loud tone in which it was carried on. 

11 So then you refuse .?” 

It was Ijurra who put this interrogatory 

“ I have done so before, Rafael ; your conduct has given me 
no cause to change my mind.” 

“ Ha 1 my conduct has nothing to do with it ; you have other 
reasons Isolina, do not. imagine I am such a hobo. 1 know 
your secret : you love this gringo — this Yankee captain. 

“ And suppose I do, that is my affair. IS ay, more sir, J shall 


THREATS. 


273 


not even^attempt to make a secret of it. I dalove him — I do— 
I do” 

liurra’s_eyes gleamed with malignant fire ; his lips turned 
white, andJdghtened over his teeth ; he seemed endeavoring to 
curb the exposure of his spleen 

11 And you would marry him ?” he asked, with compressed 
emphasis. 

M I shall marry- him,” was the prompt reply 

“ Por todos santos * it shall never be.” 

“ And who is to ninder it ?” 

1 Ha, ha, ha ! You are. raving, Rafael Ijurra !” 

“ You maydove him to your heart’s content — I care not ; but 
marry him — never ; s’de^th ! never I” 

“ Indeed V* 

“ By the. saints I swear it. I swear ” 

“ You have sworn enough : you are sufficiently perjured 
already.” 

“ Carrai !” furiously shouted Ijurra, as if losing patience. 
“Listen to me, Isolina de Vargas ! I have something to say 
tnat may not be so pleasant ” 

“Y r ou can say nothing pleasant, but I listen.” 

“First, then f here are certain documents that concern you — 
both you and your father.” 

I saw- some- folded- papers in his hand which he had taken 
from, under his-jacket. He, opened and- held . them, before her 
face, as he.continued : 

“ This.,safeguard is. one-given by the American commander-in- 
chief to the Dona Isolina de Vargas. Perhaps you have seen 
it . before ? And here is a letter from Don Ramon de Vargas tc 
the commissary-general of the American army, inclosed within 
another from that functionary to your pet filibu«tero— -a pretty 
piece of treason this I” 

“"Well sir?” 


12 * 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


274 


“Not sojsvell for you, madame. You forget that General 
Santa Anna is now chief of this republic. Think you- he will 
not punish such traitorous correspondence? Carrambo ! if I 
but lay -these documents before him, I shall have an order for 
the. arrest of both yourself and your -Ayankieado father as 
quickly as it can be spoken. Nay, more ; the estate will be 
proscript and confiscated — it will become mine — mine !’ ; 

The speaker paused, as if for an answer. Isolina remained 
silent. I coulcLnot see her face to notice the effect. I fancied 
that the threat had terrified her. Ijurra continued : 

“ Now, senorita ! you better comprehend our relative posi- 
tions. Give your consent to become my wife, and these papers 
shall be destroyed on the instant.” 

“ Never !” was the firm response that delighted my ears. 

“ Never !” echoed Ijurra ; “ then dread the consequences. I 
shall obtain orders for your arrest, and as soon as this horde of 
Yankee ruffians has been driven from the country, the property 
shall be mine.” 

“ Ha, ha, ha 1” came the scornful laugh in reply — “ ha, ha, 
ha ! you mistake, Rafael Ijurra ; you are not so far-sighted as 
youjdeem yourself ; you. forget that my fathers land lies on the 
Texa ^ side of the Rio Grande ; and ere that horde of Yankee 
ruffians as you term them, be driven out, they will establish this 
river for. their boundary. Where then will lie the power of con- 
fiscation ? Not with you and your cowardly master. Ha, ha. 
ha I” 

The reply maddened Ijurra still further, for he saw the prona.- 
bility of what had been said. His face became livid, and he 
seemed to lose all control of himself. 

“ Even so,” he shouted, with the addition of a fierce oath — 
“ even so ,,you shall never inherit those lands. Listen Isolina de 
Vargas plisten to another secret I liavfe for you : know, senorita, 
that you„are not the lawful daughter of Don Ramon !” 

1 saw the proud girl start, as if struck with an arrow. 


THREATS. 


275 


“I have tho^proofs of what I repeat/’ continued Ijurra; “ and 
even, should the United States triumph, its laws cannot make 
you. legitimate. You are not the heiress if the hacienda de 
Vargas !” 

As-yet not a word from Isolina. She sat- silent and motion- 
ess, but I -could tell by the rising and falling of her shoulders 
that a terrible -storm was gathering in her bosom 

The fiend, continued : 

“Now, madame* you may inow hew disinterested it was of 
me to offer you marriage ; nay, more, I never loved you; I 
told youjso, it was a lie” 

He never, lied -in his- life as he was doing at that moment. 
His face bespoke the- falsehood of his words. It was the utter- 
ance of purest, spleen. I read in his look the unmistakable 
expression of jealousy. Coarse as the- passion may have been, 
hefaved her — oh -I how could it have been otherwise? 

“ Love you, indeed ! Ha, ha, ha ! love you — the daughter 
of a poor Indian— a margarita /” 

The climax had come. The heaving bosom could bear silence 
no longer ; the insult was unendurable. 

“ Base-wretch 1” cried she, in a voice of compressed agony, 
“ stand, aside from my path !” 

“ Not yet,” answered Ijurra, grasping the bridle more firmly. 
“ I have something farther to communicate ” 

“ Villain ! release the rein 1” 

“Before I do, you shall promise — you shall swear” 

“ Again 1 let-go ! or this bullet to your heart 1” 

I -had. sprung from out the thicket, and was running forward 
to her, rescue. I saw her right hand on high, and something 
shining in its. grasp. It was a pistol.^ Its -muzzle was turned 
upon -Ijurra. 

No doubt the- resolute character of her who held it was well 
known touhim, for the- threat- produced an immediate effect ; the 
coward relaxed his hold, the reins dropped from his fingers, and 


276 


THE WAll-TRAIL. 


with a mingled, look of hatred and fear, he stepped back a 
pace. 

The moment the bridle became free, the., steed, already star 
tied by the spur, bounded forward, and after half-a-dozen springs, 
both -horse and rider disappeared behind the screen of the pal- 
mettoes. 

I was too late to play the knight-errant. The “ ladyj faire ’■ 
had not needed my help ; she neither saw nor heard me ; and 
by the time I arrived upon the ground, she had passed out 
of sight, and Ijurra was alone. 


CHAPTER L. 

AWKWARD ODDS. 

Ijurra was alone, and I continued to advance to the spot 
where he was standing. His back was towards me, for he still 
fronted in the direction in which Isoliua had galloped off. He 
had followed her with his eyes, with a-cry-of disappointed -rage, 
with a threat of malignant /Vengeance. 

The sound of his own voice hindered him from hearing mine, 
and he was not aware of my presence, when I paused scarcely 
three feet from where he stood, and- directly behind him. I held 
my sword drawn ; I could have thrust him in the back, through 
and through again, before he could have offered either defence or 
resistance. He was. completely in my power. 

Fortunate was it for him at that moment that I had been 
bred a, gentleman, else in another instant his lifeless body would 
have lain at my feet. A plebeian-blade would have made- short 
work with the ruffian, and 1 confess that my- instincts of fair 
play were sorely tried. I had before me a man who had sought 
my life — a deadly foe — a deadly foe to- her I -loved — a perjured 


AWKWARD ODDS. 


277 


villain — a murderer ! With such titles for himself, he- had none 
to thetlaws of honor ; and I confess that for one short moment, 
I felt like^ ignoring his. claim. ’Twas but for a moment * the 
thought revolted. Wicked and worthless as he was, I could not 
stab-him-in the-'back. 

I leaned forward, and tapping him upon the shoulder, pro- 
nounced hisruame. 

It was the first intimation he had of my presence ; and start- 
ing as if -hit by a bullet, he turned face towards me. The flush 
of. anger upon his cheek suddenly gave place to a deadly- pallor, 
and his eyes became-^et in that peculiar-stare that indicates an 
apprehension of- danger. This he must have felt keenly, for my 
determined look and drawn sword — to say nothing of the sur- 
prise by which I had tome upon him — were calculated to pro- 
duce that effect. 

It was the first time we had stood-face to- face, and I now 
perceived that he was a-mucb larger man than- myself. But I 
saw, too, that his eye quailed and his lip quivered at the encoun- 
ter. I saw that he was^ cowed ; and I felt that I was his 
master. 

“ You are Rafael -Ijurra !” I repeated, as he had not made 
answer to my first interrogation. 

“ Si seftor” he answered hesitatingly. " What want you with 
me ?” 

“ You have some-documents there ” (he still held the papers 
in his hand) ; “ apportion of them belongs to me. I shalhtrou. 
b.le you to hand them over.” 

“ Are you Captain Warfield ?” he asked, after a pause, at the 
same time -pretending to examine the superscription upon the 
commissary’s letter. I saw that his fingers trembled. 

“ I am Captain Warfield — you ought to know by this time.” 

Without noticing the insinuation, he replied : “True — there 
is a letter here bearing that address. I found it upon the road ; 
you are welcome to it, senor.” 


278 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


As lie said this, he handed' me the commissary's- order, still 
retaining the other documents. 

“There was an. inclosure ? I perceive you have it in 
your hand. I beg you will make me equally welcome to that.” 

“ Oh ! a note signed Ramon de Vargas ?- It was an enclo- 
sure ?” 

“ Precisely so ; and of course goes along with the letter.” 

“ 0 certainly : here it is senor.” 

“There is still another little document in your possession— a 
safeguard from the American commander granted to a certain 
lady. It is not yours, Senor Ijurra ! I beg you will deliver it 
to me. I wish to return it to the lady to whom it belongs.” 

This was the -bitterest pill I had yet- presented to- him. He 
glanced- hastily first to the -right and then to the left, as if desi- 
rous of makings escape. He would-fain have done- so, but I kept 
him- under my eye, and he saw that my hand was ready. 

“ Certainly there is a safeguard,” replied he, after a pause, and 
with a -feigned attempt at laughter. “’Tis a worthless docu- 
ment to me ; ’tis at-your service, sir captain and as he handed 
me the paper he accompanied the act with another- sorry 
cachinnation. 

I folded the. precious documents, and thrust all- three under 
the breast of my coat ; then placing myself in fighting attitude, 
I cried-out to my adversary to “ draw and~defend himself.” 

I had already, noticed that he wore a sword, and, like- myself, 
it appeared to be the only weapon he carried. I saw no-pistols 
upon his person. I had none myself — nothing save a light cut- 
and-thrust sword. It was far slighter than the sabre of my 
antagonist, but it was a weapon that had seen service in 
my hands, and I had perfect ..confidence in it. I had no fear 
for the result against so cowardly an, adversary ; I was not 
awedj -either by his heavier blade, or the superior size of his per* 
son. 

To my^astonishment, he hesitated to unsheathe hia sword I 


AWKWARD ODDS. 


279 


“Von musf draw,” I shouted with, emphasis. “You or I 
have-now to die. If you do not defend yourself I shalLrun you 
through the body. Coward 1 would you have, me kill you with 
your -blade in its sheath ?” 

F?,en the-taunt did not nerve him. Never saw I so- complete 
a poltroon. His white lips trembled, his eyes rolled wildly from 
side to side, seeking an opportunity to -escape, for I am certain 
that could he have.4ioped to get clear, he- would at that crisis 
have..turned and- run. 

All at once, and to my.surprise, the. coward appeared smitten 
withs courage ; anctgrasping the hilt of his sabre, he drew the 
blade ringing from its scabbard, with all the. energy of a deter- 
mined man 1 His-reluctance to fight seemed, suddenly to have 
forsaken him. Had I mistaken my man ? or w r as it despair that 
was-nerving his arm ? 

His cowed look had disappeared ; his eyes flashed with fury 
and. vengeance ; his teeth gritted together ; and a fierce- carajo 
hissed from his lips. 

Our blades-met — the sparks crackled from the creasing steel, 
and the-combat began. 

Fortunate for me, that, in avoiding the. first lounge of my 
antagonist, I had to -turn half round ; fortunately I turned se 
soon, else I should-never have left that glade alive. 

As I . faced in the new direction, I saw two men running 
towards us, sword in hand. A single^glance told me they were 
guerrilleros. They were, already within. ten paces of the spot, 
and must have beea seen long before by Ijurra. 

This was the -key to-hi^ altered -demeanor. TheiF.approach 
Jfar was*, that had- inspired him wittucourage to begin the . fight, for 
he had=calculated the -time when they should be able -to get up, 
and assail me from behind. 

“ Hola shouted he, seeing that I hack discovered them— 
“ Ilola ! El Zorro—Jose ! anda ' anda ! Mueran los fankies 
aTfliurrte con el picaro /” 


280 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


For the Jirst time, I felt myself in-danger. Three - swords to 
one was, awkward odds ; and the red. giant, with a companion 
nearly as large as himself, would no.doubt prove very different 
antagonists from the poltroon with whom I was engaged. Yes, 
I was conscious of danger, and might have retreated, had I 
deemed such a course - possible ; but my diorse was too- far off, 
and the^new comers were, directly in the^path I should- hav3 
to take to reach him. Lcould not -hope toescape on foot ; I 
well knew that these men run as lightly as Indians, for we had 
often proved their capacity in that accomplishment. They were 
already too near. I should be. overtaken, struck down, pierced, 
with my back to the foe. 

I had no time to reflect — just , enough ta leap back a pace or 
two, so as to. bring all dhree of them in, front of me, when I 
found my -sword clashing against their-blades, and parrying their 
blows one after the other. 

I can-describe the unequal combat na further. It was a con- 
-fused-medley of cut and thrust, in which I both gave wounds and 
received them. I was wounded in several places, and felt the 
warm blood, running under my clothes and over my face. I was 
wearied to-death, and every .second growing .weaker and fainter. 
I saw the red.giant* before me with his hand raised on high. His 
blade had already drawn my .blood, and was- crimsoned at the 
point; it was about to descend with a- finishing stroke. I 
should be- unable to. parry it, for I had just- exhausted my 
strength in guarding against a blow from Ijurra. My hopeless 
peril wrung from me a cry of despair. 

Was it my-cry that caused the- blade to drop from the hand of 
my-antagonist, and the .uplifted arm to fall loosely by his side ? 
Was it my cry that created the- consternation suddenly- visible 
in the, faces of my. foes? I might have. fancied so, had I ftot 
heard a sharp, crack from. behind, and seen that the arm ok El 
Zorro was. broken by a shot 1 

It seemed like the awaking from some horrichdream. 

/ 


AWKWARD ODDS. 


281 


moment Lwas battling, face to face, with three desperate men ; 
the- instant after, their backs were towards me, and all three 
were^ running as for life ! 

I followed them with my, eyes, but not far ; for at twenty 
paces off they plunged into the. thicket, and disappeared. 

I turned in the~opposite direction. A. man was running across 
the open ground with a -gun in his hand ; he was advancing 
toward the spot where I. stood. It was. he who had fired the 
shot. I saw'thathe was in. Mexican costume ; surely he was 
one of the,guerrilleros — he had aimed at me, and wounded his 
Comrade ? 

For some- seconds, I fancied that, such might be the case. 
Evidently ho was Jbolder than any. of the three, for he continued 
to advance, as if -determined to attack me alone ! 

I placed-myself in-readiness for this.new antagonist, taking a 
fresh,, grasp, on my sword, and . wiping the blood from my eyes, 
that I might the.better- receive him. 

It w r ns not. until he was. close to the point of my blade, that I 
recognized the long ape-like arms, and crooked mateless limbs oi 
Elijah -Quackenboss I 

• 



282 


THE WAE-TKAIL. 


CHAPTER LI. 

AN OFFICIAL BLACK LIST. 

The ranger, after delivering his fire, had not waited to. reload, 
but ran ^forward with the intention of; joining me in the hand-to* 
hand fight, though he .carried no other weapon than his empty 
gun. But this w r ould have been an efficient arm in such hands ■, 
for, despite his -unsymmetrical build, Dutch Lige was stalwart 
and. tough, and would have been a full match for any two of my 
assailants, had they_stood their ground. But the crack of the 
gun had .set them off like- deer. They fancied, no doubt, that a 
stronger- force was -near ; perhaps they remembered the terrible 
rifles of the -trappers, and no. doubt believed it was -they who 
had arrived to the. rescue. Indeed, such was my own belief, 
until I saw the oddly costumed ranger bounding towards the 
spot. 

A glance satisfied me that I owed my- preservation to Lige’s 
love of botanical science. A large globe-shaped - cactus plant, 
bristling like a hedgehog, hung dangling from the, swivel of his 
gun — it was thus.carried to save his- fingers from contact with 
its barbed spines — while, stuck into every loop and button hole 
of his dress could be seen the leaves and branchlets, and fruits 
and flowers, of a host of curious and unknown plants. He had 
been herborizing in the woods ; and coming by chance within 
ear-shot of the scuffle, had scrambled through the bushes just in 
time to spoil the coup-de-grace intended by El Zorro. 

“ Thanks, Quackenboss ! 4hanks, my brave friend 1 you came 
in good time : you have. saved me.” 

“ But a poor shot I’ve made, capten. I ought to have broken 


AN OiTTCJAL BLACK LIST. 


283 


that red divel’s-skull, or sent my bullet into his stomach; he’s 
got ofF too easy.” 

“ It was a good shot : you broke his arm, I think.” 

“ Ach 1 ’twas a poor shot ; the cactus spoiled my aim. You 
hurt, capteu ?” 

41 1 am wounded, but not mortally, I think. I feel a liitle 
faint: ’tis only the blood. My horse — you will find him. yon- 
der— ^among the trees — yonder. Go, Lige ; bring my horse — 
my horse ” 

For some minutes, I was out of the -world. When conscious- 
ness came back, I perceived that my steed had been brought up 
and stood near. The botanist was. bending over me, and binding 
up my wounds with- strips torn from his own shirt. He had one 
boot on ; the othem stood by; full of water, apportion of which 
he had already, poured , down my, throat, and with the rest he 
proceeded to bathe my temples and wash the blood from my face. 

This done, I soon felt* refreshed and strong enough to mount ; 
and having climbed into the saddle, I set out for the rancheria, 
my companion half guiding, half leading my horse. 

By the path .which we-followed, we should have to pass close 
to the hacienda and within .-sight of it ; but night had come on, 
and the darkness would hinder us from being observed. It was 
what I now-desired, though I -had left thejcerro with hopes and 
wishes- directly the^reverse. With a red gash upon my.forehead 
— my uniform tom and„ bloodstained — I feared being, seen, lest 
my invalid appearance should create -unnecessary alarm. But 
we. passed onjwithout n^eeting, any one, either by the hill or 
upon the main road ; and in. half an hour after, I was safe with- 
in mjxuarto in the. house of the alcalde. * * * 

The incidents of the day preyed upon my spirits, and I was far 
from feeling easy about the future. I knew that my. betrothed 
would be true till death ; and I felt ashamed that I had-doubted 
her, even for a moment. About her. loyalty I had no uneasiness, 
and I mentally vowed never more to give way to suspicion. 


28 4 : 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


It was no thought of that that now troubled me, but an anx- 
iety about*Aer personal safety ; and this grew- stronger the more 
Lpondered upon it, till it assumed almost the form of a fear. 

The man who had used such bitter-threats, and behaved with 
so much rudeness, would scarcely.stop at anything. ’Tie true I 
had deprived him of much of his power over her, by- stripping 
him of the . dangerous documents ; but it was not the*time, nor 
was he the man to stand upon nice distinctions of legality, where 
jealousy and cupidity were the incentives to action. Holding 
a sort of ^irresponsible office as the chief of what was less a pa- 
triotic guerrilla than a band of brigands, it was difficult ta tell 
what such a monster might or might not attempt. In our- absence i 
from the- post the ruffian would be full master of the-neighbor- 
hood. What deed might he not accomplish with impunity^ hold- 
ing his power -directly from the. unprincipled, dictator, whom he . 
was accustomed to imitate as a model, and who would-eudorse any 
act of villainy, provided it was the act of one of his own satel- ; 
lites. I shuddered as I reflected. 

The reappearance of Ijurra and his band — for I doubted, not 
that his followers were near — their reappearance in that vicinity, 
and at such a crisis^-just as we were being withdrawn — had 
something .ominous in it. They must have known ere this of 
the plan of campaign designed for the American army. Wheat- 
ley’s rumor had proved well-founded. The new commander-in- 
chief,- Scotf, ' had arrived- upon the ground, and. three-fourths of 
the “army of occupation” had been draughted to- form the 
expedition destined to act upon Yera Cruz. . As this greedy 
general stripped our old .favorite “ Rough affcflieady ” of only 
his best troops, we had the consolation of knowing that the. “ran- 
gers ” were among the “ picked though for all that, many of 
us would have preferred remaining with the brave veteran who 
had already led us so often to victory. I can answer for Wheat- 
ley and myself ; I might also vouch for Holingsworth though 
far different were his motives fcr-wisly<ug to remain on the Hi© 


AN OFFICIAL BLACK LIST. 


285 


Grande. His sweetheart was-revenge — in his breast long cher 
ished — to his heart -faithful arid true. 

I have said that our .design must have been - known ere this ; 
indeed the. army was already iiumovement, Troops and brigades 
were marching upon Brazos Santiago, and-Tampico, there to be 
embarked fop the south, and all that were to go had -received 
-their orders. The- provinces on the Rio Grande were not to be 
entirely abandoned, but the army deft there was to have its lines 
contracted, and„ would therefore, cover much less ground. Not 
only^was our little post..to be -deserted, but the neighboring 
town, which had long been the- head-quarters of a division, w r as 
also to be -evacuated. No force of our army would remain with- 
in .fifty miles of the rancheria ; and perhaps no American troop 
would ever again visit that isolated village. The .reflection - ren- 
dered me more than- melancholy. 

No doubt of it — the enemy was apprised of our movements. 
In our specia case — that . we the rangers w r ere to march on the 
following morning -was well known to the people of the neigh- 
borhood. It had been-known to them for several days ; and it 
had not passed.unobserved by us that the- citizens of the place — 
those who were not Ayankieados* — had lately shown themselves 
more sulky and inhospitable, in proportion as the time approached 
for our departure. This bnisqvtrie had led to several street con- 
flicts, in which knives had been drawn and blood spilled, and 
much ‘' bad blood ” begotten on both sides. 

Another circumstance was not, unnoticed amongst us. Ribald 
pasquinades, rudely written, and accompanied by threats of pro- 
scription, were at this time thrust under the doors of auch of the 
citizens as had been, friendly to us. Even the * alcalde had 
.received some documents of this character — perhaps* emanating 
from a jealous vtimdero who had looked with bitter eye upon the 
Courtship of Wheatley and -Conehita. It was not till afterwards 
I learned that similar -missives had “come to land” in a quarter 
that more, concerned myself. 


286 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


Some scouted the- absurdity of these -acts, alleging that .they 
sprung from -personal, enmity, or originated in the mob-patriotism 
of th e<~kperos. It was- not. so, as I afterwards- learned ; the 
government of the -country, or at all events, several of its pro- 
minent members, countenanced the meanness ; and at their insti- 
gation, a “black list was made out in every town and Tillage 
through which the American army had occasion to pass. Let 
the minister, Sehor 0 , make answer to this accusation. 

I was musing on this disagreeable theme, after my return 
from the cerro, and endeavoring tosketch out some plan for the 
safety of my betrothed during my absence ; but my thoughts 
proved barren. With a sort of faint hope that the villain Ijurra 
might yet -fall 4nto our hands, I had dispatched Ilcktingsworth 
— nothing-loath for the duty — with a party of rangers upon his 
trail, and I was impatiently awaiting their return. 

The voice of Wheatley aroused me from my reverie. 

“Well, .lieutenant, what is it ?” 

“ Only that precious boy,” answered he, with a significant 
smile, at the same time ushering “ Oyprio ” into the room. 

The lad carried a note, which I- opened. A green sprig of 
juniper was. enclosed and the simple word “ tuya *” was written 
in pencil. I knew the^symbol well. The juniper is tuya in that 
most beautiful of tongues, and from a lady signifies ‘yours.” 

“ Anything more ?” I asked of the messenger. 

“ Nothing, Senor Capitan,” answered the intelligent boy ; 
“only to inquire if you had arrived safe.” 

She had been anxious then 1 

I separated the branchlet into two equal parts • one i placed 
in my bosom : the other having fervently kissed, I inclosed in a 
folded sheet, upon which I wrote the words : 

“ Tuyo — tuyo — hast a la muerte, /” 

Oyprio bore, back my parting message. 

At midnight, Holingsworth and his party came in from tha 
scout. Nothing had been seen of tha guerrilla. 


THE ROUTE. 


287 


CHAPTER L 1 1 . 

THE ROUTE. 

was a. struggle between ..Aurora and the moon which of 
-ihenf should rule the sky, when our- bugle rang its clear reveille, 
rousing the -rangers from their-slumber, and startling their, steeds 
at the-stall. The-goddess of morning soon, triumphed, and un- 
der her soft blue light, men and horses could be seen moving 
about, until the bugle again sounded; this time to “ boot and 
saddle;” and the rangers began to form in the plaza, and pre- 
pare for the route. 

A single wagon with its white tilt and long team of mules, 
already “ hitched up,” stood near the centre of the square. It 
constituted the whole, baggage-train of the -corps, and. served as 
an ambulance for our invalids. Both baggage and sick had been 
safely- stowed, and the vehicle was ready for the road. The 
bugler, already in his saddle, awaited my orders to sound the 
“forward.” 

I had. climbed to my favorite ‘ smoking-room,” the azotea. 
Perhaps it was the. last time I should ever set foot on those 
painted-tiles. My eyes wandered over the plaza, though I little 
heeded what was .passing there. Only the salient points of the 
picture were noted by me-^steeds under, saddle and bridle; men 
buckling on folded -blankets, holsters, and valises ; a few already 
in the saddle; a few more^tanding by the -heads of their horses; 
and still .another few grouped around the door of the pulperia, 
having a last drink of mezcal or Catalan with their swarthy 
Mexican acquaintances. Here and there, in front of some adobe 
hut, might be observed a more tender leave-taking. The ranger 


288 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


fully equipped — with arms, haversack, and canteen — leaning 
against the heavy bars of a window, with face turned inward, as 
though he was talking to some prisoner through the grating of 
a jail. But he is himself the real ^captive, ensnared during his 
short sojourn, and still held in chains bj the ^live-skinned poblana, 
whose dark liquid eyes may be seen on the other side of the reja, 
flashing with love, or melting with sad tenderness at the prospect 
of parting. 

Others, again, are bidding their adios in retired corners, under 
the shadow of the church walls, or in groups of four or five more 
openly in the plaza, itself. Early as is the hour, the people 
have all arisen; and not a few of the brown, rebosa-clad short- 
skirted- wenches are already on their way, jarro on head, to the 
fountain. There the pitchers are filled, and lifted on their heads 
— perhaps for the last time — by the rangers, who perform the 
office with all the rude .grace in their power. Then follows a 
profusion of smiles and bows, and a. dialogue, on the ranger’s 
part extending to the whole of his Spanish, which consists of the 
phrase : 

“ Mucho bueno, muchacha 1” 

The usual reply, accompanied with a. display of pretty white 
teeth, is : 

“Mucho bueno, cavallero! mucho bueno Tejano!” given in 
like ungrammatical phrase, in order that it may be -intelligible 
to the person to whom it is addressed. 

I have often been jsuprised at the success of my great uncouth 
followers with these petite dark-eyed- damsels of Anahuac ; out, 
indeed, many of the rangers are not bad-looking men. On the 
contrary, there are, handsome fellows among them, if they.Twere 
only put into clean shirts, and a little more closely-shaven. Bui 
woman’s eve is keen-sighted in such matters : she easily, pene- 
trates through the disguise of dust, the bronze o£ sun-tan, and 
the shaggy mask of an ill-kept beard ; and uo eye is quicker in 
this respect that than of the fair Mexicana. In. the big, ap- 


THE ROUTE. 


parently rude* individual, called a “ranger,” she beholds a type 
of strength and .courage, a heart that can cherish, and an arm 
that can., protect her. These are -qualities that, from all time, 
have-won the Jove oLwoman. 

It is- evident they are- not all friends- whom we are- leaving be- 
hind us. -Hostile faces may be observed, many of them peering 
from open doors or windows. Here and there a sulky-lepero 
swings- about in his blanket, or cowers by the corner of tho 
street, scowling savagely from under his broad-brimmed hat 
Most of * this class are, absent — as long since, ascertained — with 
the<*guerrilla; but a few stilL remain to give -shadow to the pic- 
ture. They regard the approaches towards the women with ill- 
concealec^ anger ; and would resent this politeness if they dared. 
The#* confine the exhibition of their spite to the dastardly 
meanness of- ill-treating the. women themselves, whenever they 
have an opportunity. No later than the night before, one of 
them was detected in. beating his sweetheart or mistress for the 
j&rime, as was alleged, of dallying too long in the company of a 
Tejano. The Tejano, in. this case, took the law into his own 
hands, and severely chastised the jealous-pe/ado. 

Even in the hurried glance which I gave to these scenes of 
leave taking, I could. notjielp noticing an-expression on the faces 
of some of the young, girls that had in it a strange -significance. 
It was .something more than sadness ; it was -more like the un- 
easy look that betokeus -apprehension. 

Perhaps the state of mind I was in magnified my perceptions. 
At that moment, a struggle was passing in my own breast, and 
a feeling of. irresolution lay heavy upon me. All night long had 
my mind dwelt upon. the same thought — the danger that menaced 
my. betrothed— all night long I had been occupied with - plans to 
avert it, but no reasonable scheme had I succeeded in devising. 

It is true the danger was only hypothetical and undefined, 
but it was just this .supposititious iudefiniteness that caused the 
difficulty in providing against it. Had it assumed a tangible 

13 


290 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


shape, I might more easily have adopted some means of a ridd- 
ing it; but no — iUremained a shadow, and. against a shadow I 
knew not what precautions to take. When morning broke, I 
was still struggling under the same .nervous indecision. 

Problematical as was the peril my fancy had formed, there 
were moments when it appalled me — moments when my mind 
labored under a painful presentiment, and I could not cast the 
load by any .act of volition. With all my . philosophy, I could 
not. fortify myself against the belief that “ coming eveuts cast 
their shadows, before and, spite of myself, I kept repeating in 
thought the.weird prophetic words. Upon my soul, certainty, 
there were shadows, and dark ones ; if the events should have 
any correspondence with them, then there was misery before me. 

I have termed the danger in which Isolina was placed indefi- 
nite: it was not so indefinite, after a slight analysis; it was directly 
traceable to the presence ofi Rafael Ijurra. True, there were 
other sources of apprehension; other perils surrounded, her, 
arising from tha disturbed state of the country — but these did 
not point atdier in particular. That frontier province had been 
for years in a distracted condition — by revolution or Indian 
invasion — and war was no new thing to its people. In the midst 
of strife had the fair flower grown to perfect blooming, without 
having been either crushed or trodden upon. Isoliua de- Vargas 
was a woman of sufficient -spirit to resist insult and cast off 
intrusion. I had just had>proof of this. Under ordiuary cir- 
cumstances, I had no fear that she would be unequal to the 
emergency; but the circumstances in which she now stood were 
not of that character; they were extraordinary and to an extreme 
degree. In addition to the light thrown upon Ijurra’s designs 
by his own. menacing confession, I knew other particulars cf 
him. Holingsworth had helped me to a knowledge of this bad 
man, and that knowledge it was that rendered me. apprehensive. 
From a nature so base and brutal, it was natural I should dread 
the worst. 


THE KOUTE. 


291 


But what could I do ? I might have thrown up my commit 
gion, aud -remained upon the spot, but that would have bets 
worse thamidle. I could- not have protected myself, much less 
another. The raugers«.once gone from the place, my life would 
not have beemsafe there for a single hour. 

Only one plan suggested itself that had the semblance of 
feasibility — to seek another, interview with Isolina — heF father 
as well — and adjure them to remove at once from the scene of 
danger. They might go to San Antonio de Bexar, where, far 
removed from hostile ground, they could live in safety till the 
war should be ended. 

It was .only at the., last* moment that thi3 happyddea came into 
my head, and I reviled myself that I had not conceived it. sooner. 
The chief* difficulty would die in the opposition of -Don Ramon. 

I knew that he was aware of the. friendship that existed between 
his daughter and myself, and furthermore, that he had«opposed 
no-obstacle to it ; but how could I convince him of the; necessity 
for so .sudden an expatriation as the, one I was about to-propose? 
how should I persuade him of the peril I myself dreaded ? and 
from such ^source ! 

Another ^difficulty I might encounter — in the pfoud spirit of 
Isolina. herself. Much did Lfear she would neven consent to be 
thus -driven from her home, and by such a poltroon as she knew 
her~cousin to be. She had cowed and -conquered him but the day 
before; shedeared him mot; she would not be likely to partake of 
my painful .apprehensions. My counsel might be disregarded, 
my motives, misconstrued. 

The time, too, was unfavorable. We must be on the march 
by -sunrise — so, ran our orders — and already the day was break- 
ing, I cared not-much for this: I could easily have have over- 
taken my troop; but it was a -delicate matter — that could only 
by ^excused by a certain knowledge of danger — to- awake a gen 
tleman’s-family at such an hour, even for the purpose of warning 
them. Moreover, should my advice prove fruitless, I reflected 


292 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


that my.. visit — which could not-be made in secret — might- aid in 
bringing about the very, danger I*apprehended. A circumstance 
so, extraordinary could not fail to be noticed by all. 

It was thus that I was held in irresolution, while my 'troop 
was forming for the march. 

At the last moment, thanks to the thoughtful Holingsworth, 
a compromise offered. He. suggested that I should send my 
advice in writing. In that I could be as explicit as I- pleased, 
and bring before my protegees all the. arguments I might be able 
to adduce — perhaps more successfully than if urged by a personal 
appeal. 

My comrade’s. suggestion was adopted; and in haste, but with 
a fervor resulting from my fears, I penned the admonitory 
epistle. A trusty messenger was found in one of the Ayankieados , 
who. promised, as soon as the family should be stirring, to carry 
the letter to its destination. 

With my. heart somewhat relieved of its load, though still far 
from light, I gave the order to march. The bugle rang clear 
and loud, and its cheerful notes, as I sprang into the saddle, 
combiued with the inspiration borrowed from my buoyant steed, 
produced a soothing effect upon my spirit. 


CHAPTER L 1 1 1 . 

CAMP GOSSIP. 

It was but a short-lived light — a passing- gleam- -and soon 
again fell the shadow, dark as ever. Strive as I might, I could 
not cast the load that weighed upon my bosom; reason as I would, 
I could not account for its heaviness. 

It was natural that a parting like ours should produce pain. 


CAMP GOSSIP. 


293 


and misgivings as to the future. My life was to be staked m 
the lottery of war; I might fall outlie field of fight; I might 
perish by camp-pestilence — a doe that in the campaign kills more 
soldiers thau^sword or shot — the many , perils of flfcod and field 
were before me, and it was -natural I should regard the- future 
with a degree of .doubtfuless. But it was -not the contemplation oT~ 
all these dangers that filled me with such a terrible^foj^fim^Ljg. 
Strange to say, I had a ^forecast that I should survive them. It 
was almost a conviction, yet itfailed to comfort me. It compre- 
hended not the safety of Isolina. No— dmt the contrary. Along 
with it-came the-presentiment, that we should never meet again/) 

Once or twice, as this dread„feeling became most acute, I 
reined up my horse, half resolved to gallop back ; but again the 
wildddea passed from from me, aud I continued irresolutely on. 

Something of-prudence,.too, now restrained me from-returning: 
it would no. longer have been .safe to go back to the rancheria. 
As we issued from the plaza, we could hear-distant jeering, and 
cries of “ Mueran las Tejanos /” It was with difficulty I could 
restrain the rangers from turning to take vengeance. One, the 
worst for mezcal, had-loitered behind, under the influence of the 
drink, -fancying himselLsecure. Him the- pelados had “ bonneted,” 
and otherwise., maltreated. They would have.,murdered him 
outright, but that^ome ofithem, meraprudent than their, fellows, 
had' counselled the mob to let him go^alleging that the. Tejanos 
were. yet “ too near, and might come back.” 

Again I had -strife with my men; they would have- returned 
and fired the place, had I permitted them. Fortunately r he who 
had been ill treated was 3k good-for-nothing fellow — scarcely worth 
the.sympathy of his comrades — and I was welL satisfied at his 
having .received a lesson. It ‘might -be .useful, and was >- much 
needed, for ‘istraggling ” was one of the..ranger-crimes most dif 
fieult tacure. 

Along the road, we saw signs of a guerrilla. Shots were fired 
at us from a hill; but a party sent to the place encountered mj 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


294 

one. Horse-tracks were observed, and once a brace of mounted 
men were seen-galloping away over a distant slope. It might 
be the band of-Ijurra, and doubtless it was so; but we- fancied 
at the time that* Canal es-himself was near; and as an* encounter 
with hisJarge and-well-organized force would be a very- different 
affair from a skirmish with the other, we felt the* necessity of 
advancing with- caution. 

The^prospect of a “ fight ” with that noted, partisan created 
quite an-excitement in the ranks. To have captured. Canales — 
the “ Chapparal Fox,” as the Texans, termed him — or to have 
made ..conquest of his band, would have been -esteemed a feat of 
grand- consequence — only inferior in - importance to a pitched 
battle, or the-taking of “Game-leg” (Santa Anna) himself. 

I confess that- to me the idea of, measuring strength with the 
famed. guerrillero was at that moment rife with charms; and the 
excitement -derived from the hope of meeting him, for a-while 
abstracted my mind from its painful bodings. 

"But we reached the town without seeing aught of the Chap- 
paral Fox. It was not likely that he was on that road; or if so, 
he took care not to show himself. Canales fought not for glory 
alone, and the rangers were not the foes he cared to encounter. 
Rich baggage-trains were the game he was used to- hunt, and 
our solitary “company-wagon,” filled with frying-pans, camp- 
kettles,* sick soldiers, and tattered blankets-^half alive with those 
charming little-insects of the genera rpulex and pedicwlus — had no 
attractions for the gallant guerrillero. 

On reaching the town, we were surprised ta find that the 
division had not yet moved. It was to have marched on that 
morning, but a countermand had arrived from head-quarters, 
delaying the movement for some days — perhaps a week. 

This was rare news to me; and as soon as I -heard it, my mind 
became occupied with . projects and .anticipations of a pleasant 
nature. I had hoped that we would be sent back to the rancheria, 
but alas ! no — our orders were to remain with the division 


CAMP GOSSIP. 


295 


As every available building was occupied by troops, the ran- 
gers, as usual, were treated as “ outsiders/’ and compelled to. take 
to the-grass. Half a mile from the town, a- spot was shown us 
for our camp. It was on the banks of a pretty rivulet ; and 
there, having picketed our steeds, stretched our canvas to the sun, 
and washed the dust from our faces, we made ourselves at homo 

I did not remain dong by the -camp. As soon as our tents 
were fairly pitched, I left- them, and walked back into the- tow# 
— partly to get more^ definite information as to the future move- 
ments of the army, and partly with the design of indulging a 
little iu the sociaLfeeling. I had some old comrades among the 
different. regiments of the division; and after such a long spell of 
rustication, I was notdndisposed to~ refresh my spirit by the re- 
newal of former fellowships. 

At head quarters, I learned, definitely that we should not 
march for a^veek at the least. So far-good ; and after- hearing 
this, I proceeded to the fonda, the. rendezvous of all the jovial 
spirits of the army. Here I encountered the friends of whom I 
was in search; and for a short while I found respite from the 
thoughts that had been harrowing me. 

I soon gathered the current “ camp gossip,” and learned who 
were the “ newspaper heroes ” of the hour over, mauy of whose 
flames my friends affd I could not restrain either our satire or 
laughter. It appeared that the men of deeds were scarcely 
known beyond the limits of the. army itself, while others, who in 
the field of battle had actually, played the; poltroon, had at home 
become, household words in the mouths of the people. One 
general-, whom I myself saw hiding in a ditch, during the rage 
of battle was the . theme of. speech* sentiment, and song. The 
newspapers wera filled with. praises, and the windows with, pic- 
tures of if* 1 , gallant dragoon, officer,” who had somehow obtained 
the-credit of., capturing a. battery. My rangers, cried “ Bah 1” 
when I told them this. They themselves wei e the men who 
had first galloped over those Mexican guns 1 


296 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


“ Keeping an editor in pay” was a standing sarcasm applies 
ble to more than one of oar generals ; and the “ army corres- 
pondent ” taking advantage of this pruriency for fame, lived well, 
and swaggered in proportional importance. 

Ah, glory ! what sacrifices men make for thee upon the 
shrine of conscience 1 For my part, I do not think I could feel 
happy under the credit of a feat I had not performed. Surely 
the consciousness of having done a deed is of itself a sufficient 
reward. He is but an unhappy hero who is not a hero to him- 
self ! 

Pleasanter gossip I heard about the relations existing 
between our troops and the people of the town. Many of the 
inhabitants had grown quite Ayanlaeado, in consequence of our 
excellent behavior towards them. Our conduct was com- 
pared with that which they had lately experienced at the hands 
of their own army. The-latter is in the habit of seizing, pro- 
perty at pleasure, on. pretence of using it for the defence of the 
state. We, on the contrary,- pay for every thing-vround prices 
too — in , bright American dollars. The ricos and merchants 
prefer thi&.system, and would have no objections to making it 
permanent. Outrages are few on the part of our soldiery, and 
severely, punished by the general. Our enemies contrast the 
modest.bearing of the American soldier with the conceited strut 
and insolent swagger of their own gold bedizened militarios who 
are wont on all occasions to “ take the wall,” of them. It is 
only outside the lines, between stragglers and leperos, that the 
retaliation system is carried on so fiercely. Within the walls, 
everything is order, with a mildness too rare under martial law. 
Private property is strictly regarded, and private dwellings are 
not. occupied by our troops. Even the officers are not billeted 
in -private houses ; and many of then\ have to make -shift in 
rather-uncomfortable quarters, while most of the. soldiers live 
underv canvas. This state of things is scarcely satisfactory to 
the troops ; and some grumbling is heard. There is no- com- 


CAMP GOSSIP. 


297 


plaint, however from the Mexicans, who seem rather astonished 
at so much forbearance on the part of their conquerors. 

I .doubt whether in the whole history of war can be found a 
conquest,. characterized by equal mildness and humanity, as is the 
“ Second Conquest of Mexico.” ) 

It is.principally for: this reason the people have, grown sa well 
affected - towards us. But there is another, perhaps, not less 
potent. From the- extensive operations we are now about to 
undertake, they see that we mean., war in earnest ; and the 
belief has become-general, that a large “ annexation” will follow; 
that .perhaps the whole valley of the Rio Grande will become 
American territory. It is but human nature in. them to do 
homage to the -rising sun. 

The ricos are better disposed^towafds us than the common 
people ; but this .enigma is easily explained. The latter are 
more patriotic — that is, more ready to fight for native tyranny 
than accept ireedom from a foreign hand. ’Tis so in all lands. 
In the. event of a war with England, the black -slave of Carolina 
would range himself by the side of his master, and prove the 
bitterest foe to the enemies not of his freedom but of his. coun- 
try. 

The famUias jprindpales of Mexico have good reasons for 
being., friendly to us. They have a-stake to lose, which, under 
their own government has been ill guarded for them. No won- 
der they should desire to come under the broad protecting wings 
of themorthern.*eagle. ' * * * * 

I found that another. species of “.annexation” had been going 
ensuring my absence. One of our officers had become annexed 
to a wealthy ..senorita of the place, and the marriage ceremony 
had been performed with great pomp and splendor. Another 
was .talked of as being* fiance fr and it was expected that the 
example would find numerous* imitators. 

I need not say that I was much interested by these- novedadi t, 
and I returned with lighter heart to the camp. 

13 * 


298 


THE WAR-TRAflL, 


CHAPTER LIT, 

THE RUINED RANCHO. 

The pleasant, excitement caused by my visit t3 my old com- 
rades was soon over ; and having nothing to do but lounge 
about my tent, I became again the victim of the same painful 
bodings. I could not .shake them off. 

Subtle and mysterious is the spirit-world within us, certainly 
does it. seem to have prescience of the future. Is it an electric 
chain connecting what is with what is to- be ? Or is it the se- 
cond sight of instinct ! Certainly there are times when something 
within whispers a warning, as in the physical world, God’s wild 
creatures are warned from without of the earthquake and 
the storm. How often do we experience the realizations of por- 
tentous dreams ? Why should not the waking soil have also 
its moments of- clairvoyance ? 

As I lay.stretched upon my leathern catre , I gave way to 
such reflections. I soon succeeded in reasoning myself into a 
full belief in- foreknowledge ; and my apprehensions were pro- 
portionately strengthened. But I had* conceived a design, and 
the=prospect of putting it in execution somewhat relieved me 
from the heaviness I had hitherto-felt. 

My neweproject was to, take a score of my best men, to ride 
back the road we had come, place the party in ambush near the 
hacienda, while I alone should enter the house, and further urge 
the. counsels I had committed to^writing. If I should find tliat 
these had been already- followed, so- much the better — I should 
be assured, and return content ; but I felt almost certain that 
Don Ramon had- rejected them. At all events I was determined 


THE RUINED RANCHO. 


299 


to know the truth — determined, moreover, to gratify my longing 
for one more interview with my beloved. 

I had'W^ned the- men and fixed the hour — as soon as it was 
dark enougftjto conceal our departure from the camp. 

I had, two reasons for not starting earlier ; first,- because I did 
not wish this .private, scouting to be known at head-quarters. It is 
true that in such matters we. rangers had the advantage of regu- 
lar troops. Though belonging to the division, our duty was 
usually - detached from it, and we were rarely “ missed ” when 
absent. There was thus a sort of pleasant independence in my 
command, which I lor one fully appreciated. For all that, I did 
not desire the whole world to know of an expedition like the 
one projected. 

My second motive for going in the night was simple prudence 
I dared not take the whole of my command along with me, with 
out permission from above. The absence of the corps without 
leave would, certainly be noticed, even were it but for afew hours ; 
and with the smaller party I intended to take, caution would be 
requisite. Should we move along the road before it was .desert* 
?d, some swift messenger might carry the tidings en avant , and 
get us into trouble. 

L designed to start at the earliest hour of. darkness, so that I 
might not alarm the hacienda by a midnight visit. An hour 
and a half of constant riding would bring me to its gate. * * 

At thfr last moment of, twilight we were Jnour saddles ; and 
rode -silently into the . chaparral that skirted our camp. After 
filing for some . distance through a narrow path, we- debouched 
upon the up-river road, the same that conducted to the rancheria. 

The trappers, -Rube and Garey, -acting as scouts, went for- 
ward in the advance. They were on foot — their horses remain 
ing behind with the party. 

It w r as a mode of march I had adopted after some experience 
in bush-fighting. Tho scouts of a marching force should always 
go on-foot, whether the main body be dragoons or infantry. Id 


soo 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


this manner they can take advantage of the ground ; and. by 
keeping under cover of the timber, are enabled to reconnoitre 
the angles of the road in a much safer way than when on. horse- 
back. The great-danger to a. scout — and consequently to the 
party for which he is acting— lies in his being first, seen, and the 
risk is greater when he Amounted. The horse. cannot be drafra 
under cover without an. effort ; and the sound of the , hoof may 
be heard ; whereas, in nine cases out of ten, a man on foot — that 
is, such a man as either Rube Rawlings or Bill Garey — will dis- 
cover the enemy before he is himself seen, or any ambuscade can 
be-attempted. Ofcourse, the scout should never advance beyond 
the possibility of retreating upon the party he is guiding. 

With fulLconfidence in the men who had been sent forward, 
we~rode on, timing our pace, so as not to.. overtake them. Now 
and then we caught a glimpse of them, at the further end of a 
long stretch, skirting the bushes, or stooping behiud the cover, 
to reconnoitre the road in* advance. To our chagrin, it was clear 
moonlight, and we could .distinguish their forms at a. great dis- 
tance. We should much have preferred a darker night. 

The. road we were, travelling, upon was-entirely without -habi- 
tations ; most of it ran through, light chaparral forest, with 
neither clearing nor homestead. One solitary rancho stood at 
about equal distances between the town and the rancheria ; and 
was known among the rangers by the familiar sobriquet of the 
“ half-way-house.” It was a poor, hovel of yucca, with a small 
patclx. around that had once grown yams, chile-pepper, and a 
stock of maize for. whoever had inhabited it ; but Its occupants 
had long since .disappeared — the prowling soldier-robber from the 
camp had paid it many a visit, and its household gods lay bro- 
ken upon the hearth. The tortilla stone and comal, red earthen 
ollas, calabash cups, bedsteads and benches of the tana voquerd 
a whirligig spindle, an old stringless jarana or bandolon, with 
other- like effects, lay in fragments upon the floor. Mingling 
with these were cheap colored wood-prints, of saints andSaviour, 


THE RUINED RANCHO. 


301 


that had been dragged from the walls, and with the torn leaves 
of an old Spanish, misa t trampled in dust and^dishonor. 

I -paint this, tableau of- ruin not that it was in any way con 
nected with the events of our narrative, but that it had strangely 
affected me. On the day -before, as we rode past, I had halted 
u moment by the little rancho, and contemplated the scene with 
a feeling of melancholy that amounted almost to sadness. Lit- 
tleuthought I that a still -"sadder spectacle awaited me in that 
same-spot. 

We had. approached within,, less than half a mile of the rancho, 
when a strange medley of . sounds reached our ears. Human 
voices they were, and. borne upon the light, breeze we could dis- 
tinguish-: them to be the voices of women. Occasionally harsher 
tones were heard mingling in the murmur, butjnost of them had 
the soft rich intonation that distinguishes the female voice. 

We all drewdridle andJistened. The sounds continued in the 
same confused chorus, but there was neither song nor joy in the 
accents. On the-contrary, the night-wind carried upon its wings 
the voices of “-lamentation and wailing.” 

“There are women in- trouble,” remarked one of my followers 
in a loud^sujestive tone. 

The remark caused all of us simultaneously to ply the spur, 
and ride forward. 

Before we had galloped a dozen lengths, a man appeared com- 
ing Jrom the opposite direction, and advancing rapidly up the 
middle of the road. We saw it was the scout Gfarey ; and, once 
more reining up, we awaited his approach. 

I was at the head of the little troop, and as the trapper drew 
near, I could see his face full under the light of the moon. Its 
expression was ominous of evil tidings. 

He-spoke not until he had laid his. hand upon the pommel of, 
my saddle, and then only in a- subdued and saddened tone. His 
w ords were : 

“ Thar’s-ugly„-news r capt’n.” 


802 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


0 that terrible foreboding ! 

“ News ? — ill news P I stammered out ; “ what, for Heaven’s 
sake ? — speak, Garey P 

“ They’ve been playin’ the devil at the rancherie. Them ruf- 
fians hez behaved wuss than Injuns would a done. But come 
forrard, capt’n, and. see for yorself. The weemen are close by 
hyar at the shanty. Rube’s a try in’ to pacify them, poor crit- 
ters.’’ 

0 that terrible, foreboding ! 

1 made no response to Garey’s last speech, but rode forward 
as fast as my horse could carry me. 

A brace of minutes brought me up to the rancho and there 
I beheld a spectacle that caused the blood to curdle In my 
veins. 


CHAPTER LY. 

A CRUEL PROSCRIPTION. 

The open space in front of the hovel was occupied by a group 
of women, most of them young girls. There were six or seven ; 
I did not count them. There were two or three men, Mexicans, 
mixed , up in the group. Rube was in their midst, endeavor- 
ing in their broken Spanish, to give them consolation, and assur- 
ance of safety. Poor victims ! they needed-both. 

The women were half-naked — some of them simply en chemise . 
Their long black hair fell loosely over their shoulders, looking, 
tossed wet, and draggly. There was blood upon it ; there was 
blood upon their cheeks in seams half-dried, but still dropping, 
The same horrid red mottled their necks and bosoms, and there 


A CRUEL PROSCRIPTION. 


303 


was blood upon the hands that had wiped them. A red- brown 
blotch appeared upon the -foreheads of all. In the moonlight, it 
looked as if the. skin had beeu burnt. I rode closer to one and 
examined it : it was a. brand — the fire-stamp of red-hot iron. The 
skin around was scarlet, but in the mid3t of this halo of inflam- 
mation I could distinguish, from their darker hue, the outlines of 
the two letters I wore upon ray button — the well known M TJ. S/ 

She who was nearest me raised her hands, and tossing back 
from her cheeks the thick clustered hair, cried out : 

“ Miralof senor !” 

0 Heaven ! my . flesh crept as I looked upon the source of 
that crimson hemorrhage. Her ears had been clipped off — - 
they, were wanting I 

1 needed no farther .uplifting of their hair to satisfy me that 
the others had been served in like manner ; the red stream still 
trickling adown their necks was evidence enough. The men, too 
had been similarly abused. Two of them had suffered still fur- 
theiumutilation. They held held up their right arms before my 
face — ^ot their hands. cThere were no hands.- I saw the hang- 
ing sleeve and the blood steeped bandage on the stump. 
Their, hands had been- chopped off at the— wrists. Horrid 
sight ! 

Both , men and women gathered around me,, clasping my 
knees, and uttering„.prayers and entreaties. No doubt most of 
them were_known to me by sight ; but their, features were now 
unrecognizable. They had been the-friends and sweethearts of the 
' corps and my .followers were already addressing them by name. 
The Jovers of one or two were,present, and embraced them. 

One appeared raore-richly costumed than the-rest, and upon 
her my. eye had fallen, as I first- rode up. I almost dreaded to 
approach, her, as she stood a little apart ; but.no — it could not 
b e _A- s he was. not.talb enough ; besides the ruffians would not 
dare ” 

“ Your name, senorita?” 


TIIE WAR-TRAIL. 


304 


“ Conchitd, Senor — la hija del alcalde V 

The. tears burst from her. eyes, mingling with- blood as- they-" 
ran down her-cbeeks. Oh, that I too Could have-wept I Poor 
W heatley 1 he was, not with us. He had yet ta receive the 
blow : it would soon-fall. 

My heart was on fire ; so were those of my followers. They 
swore andJoamed at the mouth. Some drew pistols and knives, 
calling me tot lead them on. Never saw Lmen in such -a frenzy 
of rage : the most cold-blooded among them seemed to have 
suddenly gone mad. 

I could scarcely restrain them, till we should hear the tale. 
We guessed it already ; but we needed some, details to assist 
us imexecuting vengeance. It was. told by many mouths, inter- 
rupting Of confirming one another. One of the men was more 
coherent — Pedro, who used to sell.mezcal to the troop. To him 
we listened. The- substance of his story was as follows : 

Shortly after we had-left the rancheria, it was. entered by the 
guerrilleros with cries of “ Viva Santa Anna! Viva Mexico !” 
and 11 Death to the Yankees !” They, commenced by breaking 
open several- tiendas, and drinking mezeal and whatever they 
could find. They were-joined by tha mob of the place — by leperos, 
and,, others. Pedro noticed the herredero (blacksmith) and the 
matador (cattle-killer) taking a. conspicuous part. There- were 
many, women in the mob — the -mistresses of the guerrilleros, and 
others of the,down. 

After drinking a while, they grew more .excited. Then was 
heard the cry ; l \ Mueran los Ayankieados and the crowd scat- 
tering in different directions entered the- houses, shouting, 
Saqueidos afuera ! matenlos !” (Drag them out! kill them !) 
The poor-girls and All who had beenJriendly to the Americanos 
were dragged into the plaza amidst the oaths and execrations 
of the guerrilla, and hisses and bootings from the mob. They 
were spat upon, called by filthy names, pelted with mud and 
melon-rinds, and then some of the crowd cried out to mark them, 


A CRUEL PROSCRIPTION. 


305 


so that their friends the Tejanos should. know them-agaiL. The 
women were more furious than the men, and, exdted the latter 
to the deed, calling to the. blacksmith : 

“ Trniga e.l fierro ! traiga el Jierro /” (Bring the branding* 
iron !) 

Others cried out : “ Sacan las , orejas !” (Cut off their 
ears 1 ) 

The brutal -blacksmith and butcher, both half drunk, obeyed 
the call-^-willingly, Pedro alleged. The former used the brand- 
ing-iron, already prepared, while the latter performed his bloody 
office with the. knife of his trade 1 

Most of the guerrilleros woro masks. The. leaders were all 
masked, and watched the .proceedings from the roof of the alcal- 
de’s house. One .Pedro knew in spite of his, disguise ; he knew 
him by his great-size and- red hair ; it was the salteador, El Zorro. 
Others he,guessed at ; but he had no doubt it was the. band of 
Don RafaeUjurra — nor had we. 

Had they left the rancheria before Pedro and the others came 
away ? 

Pedro thought, not ; he and the other victims, as soon as 
they, got out of the hands of the mob, had fled to the cha- 
parral, and were making for the American camp when met by 
our scouts. They were straggling along the road one after the 
other ; Rube had detained them by the rancho, till we should 
come up. 

Pedrojeared that they were not^ all — that there were other 
victims ; the alcalde, he feared, had been worse than mutilated— 
he had been murderedr' 

This last information the poor felloe imparted in a whisper — 
at the same time casting a sorrowful look towards Conchita. I 
had not the ^courage to inquire farther. 

The question^arose whether we should send, back for more men, 
and wait till they arrived, or advance at once to the rancheria. 
The former was negatived with unanimous voice. We were 


306 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


strong, enough, and vengeance was, impatient. I was, joyed by 
the. decision ; I could not have waited. 

The women were directed to continue on to the ranger-camp • 
Pedro, mounted behind one of the men, should go with us. We 
needed him for purposes of identification. 

We were, about to move forward, when a figure appeared 
along the road in the direction we were going to take. On 
coming within sight of us, the figure was seen to skulk and hide 
in the bushes. Bube and Garey ran rapidly forward, and in a 
few miuutes returned bringing with them a Mexican youth — 
another of the victims ! 

He had left the scene of his sufferings somewat later than the 
rest. 

Was the guerrilla still in the place ? 

No ; they were gone from the village. 

“ Whither ?” was the anxious interrogatory. 

Theyjiad taken the up-river road towards the hacienda de Par- 
gas. They had passed the boy as he lay concealed among some 
aloes ; he had heard their cries as they rushed past. 

“ What cries ? n y * ; 

oJr 

They shouted : “ Mueran al. traidor y traidora ! Mueran it 
jpadre y hija. Isolina la jp — t — a P 1 

“ 0 merciful God l” 


THE BIYOUAC OF THE GUERRILLA. 


307 


CHAPTER LVI. 

THE BIVOUAC OF THE GUERRILLA. 

I stayed to hear no more, but drove the spurs against tt* 
ribs of my horse, till he sprang in full gallop along the road. 
Eager as. were my men to follow, Twas as much as they could 
do to-keep up. 

We no longer*. thought of scouts or cautious marching. Th< 
^rappers had mounted, and were galloping with the rest. W<; 
th ought only of tivie. 

We rode for the hacienda de .Vargas, straight up the river. 
Although it was beyond the rancheria, we could reach it with- 
out passing through the latter — which lay some, distance back 
from the stream. We could, return to the village afterwards, 
but^ first for the hacienda. There I wished to arrive in thi 
shortest, time possible. The miles flew behind us, like the dust 
of the road. 

Oh, should we not be in' time 1 I feared to ..calculate* th^ 
length of the interval since the boy had heard that rabble rout. 
Was it more than an hour ? Five miles to the rancho, and he 
on. foot. Had he travelled rapidly ? Yes,, here and there ; but 
he had made a stop: some men had passed him, and he had 
hidden in the bushes till they were out of , sight. He had been 
more than an hour on the way — nearly two, and one would be 
enough for the execution of the- darkest deed. Oh, we should 
not arrive in time! 

There was no delay now. We were going at top speed, amf 
in silence, scarcely exchanging a word. Alone might be heard 
- ; the mattering of hoofs, the clinking of bits, or the ringing of 


THE WAK-TKAIL. 


S08 

steel scabbards. Neither the slimy, gutter nor the deep.rut of 
carrcta wheels stayed our advance ; our horses leaped over, or 
went. sweltering through them. 

In,, five minutes w$. ..came to th & rinconada, where the* road 
forked — the left branch leading to the village. We saw no one, 
and kept on by the right, the. direct road to the. hacienda. An- 
other mile, and we should reach the house ; a. quarter of that 
distance, and we should come in sight of it ; the trees alone 
hindered our view of its walls. On — on ! 

What means that light ? Is the sun rising in the West ? Is 
the chaparral on fire ? Whence comes the yellow gleam, half 
intercepted by the trunks of the trees ? It is not the moon! 

41 Ho! the. hacienda is in flames !” 

4< iNo — it cannot be ! A house of stone, with scarcely 
enough timber to make a blaze ! It cannot be that ! ,; 

It is not, that. We. emerge from the forest ; the. hacienda is 
before our eyes. Its white .walls gleam under a -yellow light — 
the light of fire, but not of conflagration. The house stands 
intact. A huge bon-fire burns in front of the -portal ; it was 
this that caused the glare through the forest. 

We . draw up, and^gaze upon it with surprise. We. behold a 
huge pile — the.material supplied from the Jiousehold- stack of 
dry fagots — a vast blaze drowning the pale moonshine. We can 
see the hacienda, and all around it, as distinctly as by the light 
of day ! 

For what purpose this holocaust of crackling acacias ? 

Around the fire we behold many forms, living and moving. 
There are men, women, dogs and saddled horses. Huge joints 
are roasting over the red coals, and others, roasted, are being 
greedily eaten. Are they savages who surround that blazing 
pile? No — we can see their, faces with full distinctness, the 
white skins and black beards of the men, the cotton garments 
of the women ; we can see sombreros and serapeey cloth cloaka 
and calzoneros of velveteen, sashes and sabres ; tve can-distin 


THE BIVOUAC 5F THE GUERRILLA. 


309 


<guish their voices as they shout, sing and carouse : we note 
their-lascivious-movements in the national dance — the fandango. 
No, Indians they 1 ’Tis a Joivouac of the- guerrilleros — the 
ruffians for whom we are in search. 


0, that I had listened to the voice of prudence, and adopted 
the„strategy of a surround ! But my blood was boiling, and I 
feared to lose even a moment of time, lest we might be too late. 
But one or two of my followers counselled delay, and, as the 
event proved, they were the wisest. The rest, like myself, were 
impatient for, action. 

The word was^given, and like, hounds, fresh loosed from the 
leash, we rushed forward with charging .cheer. 

It was the_ madness of fools. Well knew our enemy the 
hoarseJTexan “ hurrah 1” It had been shouted to terrify them, 
when there was, no need. They would never have stood 
ground. 

The shout, warned them, causing them to scatter like a herd 
of deer. The steep hill proved too heavy for our horses ; and 
before we could reach its summit, the main body of the guer- 
rilla had mounted, and scampered off into the darkness. Six of 
them fell to our* shots, and as many more, with them she-asso- 
ciates, remained prisoners in our hands; but as, usual that 
subtle/ccfwSrd had contrived to escape. Pursuit was idle! they 
had taken to the dark woods beyond the hill. 

I thought not of pursuit ; my mind was bent on a far differ- 
ent purpose. 

I rode into the •patio. The court was lit up by the glare of 
the fire. It presented a picture of ruin. Rich furniture was 
scattered about in the veranda and over the pavement, broken 
or tumbled down. I called her_name — the name of Don 
Ramon. Loudly and earnestly did I raise my voice, but echo 
gave the only reply. 

I dismounted, and rushed into the veranda, still vociferating, 
and stilt without receiving a response. I hurried frrm room 


310 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


room — from cuarto to sala — from sala to saguan — up to 
azotea-«-every where — even to the capilla in the rear. Tne 
moonbeams- gleamed upon the -altar, but no human form was 
there. The whole Jiouse was deserted ; the domestics — even 
the. women of the... cocina — had -disappeared. My horse and 1 
seemed the onh^living things within those walls — for my follow- 
ers had remain outside with their prisoners. 

A sudden hope gleamed across my heart. Perhaps they ha4 
taken my. counsel, and gone off. before the mob appeared! 
Heaven grant it might be so ! 

I- rushed, out to -question the -captives. They should know, 
both men and women: they could certainly, tell me. 

A_glance showed me I was too. late to receive, information 
from the men. A large pecan l tree stood at one corner of the 
building. The .5 religh ^glared upon it; from its ..branches hung 
six human forms with drooping heads, and. feet far from the 
earth. They-had jusLueased toidive! 

One. told me that the* herredero was. among them, and also 
the cruel ..matador. Pedro had ^identified both. The others 
vtere^pelados of the town, w'lio had borne part in the. affair of the 
day. Their Judges had made- quick work, and equally quick 
had been the ceremony of -execution. Lazos, had ..been -reeved 
over tiie-limbs of the_ pecan, and with these all six had been 
jerked up without shrift or -prayer! 

It was- not jevenge for which I panted. I turned to the 
women; many of these had. made off, but there were still a 
dozen or more in the hands of the men. They looked haggsud 
with drink; some. sullen, and some- terrified. They had reason 
to be afraid. 

In answer to my questions, they shook their heads, but.gave 
mejio information. Some remained doggedly.silent; others denied 
all .knowledge of Don Ramon or his-daughter. Threats had 'ho 
effect. They either knew not, or '^feared to~tell what had b 
len them. 0 heaven! could it be the latter ? 


THE BIVOUAC) OF THE GUERRILLA. 


311 


I was turning away angered and despairing, when my eves 
fell upon a figure that seemed to skulk under the shadow of the 
walls. A shout of joy escaped as I recognized the boy Cyprio; 
he was just emerging from his place of concealment. 

“ Cyprio !” I cried. 

“ Si, seftor,” answered he, advancing rapidly to where 1 
tood. 

“ Tell me, Cyprio,. where are they gone — where-r-where ?” 

“ Carrai, senor! these Joad men have carried the, dueno away; 
I do not know whither.” 

“ The senora ? the senora ?” 

“Oh! cavallero , es una cosa espantosa /” (It is a terrible 
thing.) 

“ Quick r tell me all ! Quickly Cyprio!” 

“ Senor, there came jnen with black masks, who broke into 
the house and carried off the master; then they dragged out 
Dona Jteolina into the, patio! Ay de mi! I cannot tell you 
what they^did before-t-yc&re senorita ! There was blood running 
down her u neck and all over her , breast; she was not- dressed, 
and I could, see it. Some went to the caballeriza, and led out 
the white horse — the steed that was brought from the llanos. 
Upon his back they bound Dona Isolina. Volga me dios ! such 
a sight!” 

“ Go on!” 

“ Then r senor, theyjed the horse across the river, and out to 
the plain beyond. All went along, to see the sport, as they 
said — ay de mi ! such sport! I did not go, for they beat and 
threatened to kill me; but I saw all from the hill-top, where I 
had hidden myself in the bushes. O Santisima Maria /” 

“Goon!” 

“ Then senor, they stuck. cohetes in the hips of the horse, and 
set them on fire, and pulled off the . bridle, and the steed went off, 
with fire-rockets after him, and Dona Isolina tied down upon his 
back — pobre senorita ! I could see the liorse till he was far. far 


312 


TIIE WAR-TRAIL. 


away upon the llano , and then I could see him no more. Dios 
dtmi ahno ! la nina esta perdida !” (Alas the young lady is 
lost.) 

“ Some w water! Rube! Garey ! friends-r-water ! wa- 
ter 1” 

I made an attempt to reach the fountain in the patio ; but, 
after staggering dizzily a pace or two, my strength failed me, 
an & I fell-fainting to the earth. 


CHAPTER LYII. 

TAKING THE TRAIL. 

I had merely swooned. My nerves and.frame were still weak 
from the blood-letting I had received in the combat of yesterday. 
The shock of the hondmews was too much for my powers of en- 
durance. 

I was insensible only for a short while ; the cold water revived 
me. 

When consciousness returned, I was by the fountain, my back 
leaning -against its parapet edge ; Rube, Garey, and others were 
around me. From my dripping- garments, I perceived that they 
had douched me, and one was pouring a fiery spirit down my 
throat. There were men on horseback, who had. ridden into the 
patio — the iron Jioofs causing the. court to ring. They, were 
rangers, but not those who had leftcamp in my company. Some 
had arrived since, and others were still galloping up. Those 
girls-had reached the ranger camp, and. told their. tale. The 
men had not waited for orders, or . even for one another, but 
rushing to their horses, took the road in twos and threes. 
Every moment, a horseman, or several together, came riding 


TAKING TIIE TRAIL. 


313 


forward in hot haste, carrying their rifles, as if ready for action, 
and uttering loud cries ofjndignation. 

Wheatley had arrived among the foremost. Poor fellow ! his 
habitual r buoyancy had departed ; the gay smile was gone from 
his lips. His..eyes were on-fire, and his., teeth set in the stern 
expression of heart-consuming^vengeance. 

Amidst the hoarse- shouting of the men, I heard screaming ia 
the shriller voices of women. It. came from without. 

I rose .hastily, and ran towards the spot : I saw. several of the 
wretehed-eaptives ^stripped to the waist, and men in the act of 
flogging-them, with mule-quirts and- pieces of raw hide rope. 

I had- feared it was^worse ; I had feared that their captors 
were inflicting upon them a -retaliation in kind. But no — angry 
as were my. followers, they had not . proceeded to such a fiendish 
extremity. 

I ^required all the_ authority of a command to put an end to 
this distressing s spectacle. They desisted at length, and the 
screeching and affrighted„wretches were.permitted to take- them- 
selves away — all disappearing rapidly beyond the light of the 
fire. 

At this crisis, a. shout was raised : ‘‘To the rancheria, to the 
rancheria !” and instantly a party, with Wheatley and Hoiings- 
w'orth at its head, rode off for the tillage. Pedro went along 
with them. 

I waited mot for their- return ; I had formed a plan of. action 
for jnyself, that would admit of no delay in its execution. 

At first,, stunned by the blow, and the distraction of my 
swooning senses, I had not -Been able to„ think ; aa soon as the 
confusion passed, and I could-refiect more„clearly, the course I 
ought to pursue was at once^apparent. Yengeance I bad- felt 
as the -first impulse, and a*strong desire to -follow up the. fiend 
ljurra — night and day to follow him — though the. pursuit should 
lead me into the heart of the hostile ground. 

This was but a momentary impulse : vengeance must be stifled 

14 


314 : 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


for the -time. A path was to betaken that widely, diverged 
from that of the retreating guerrilla — 1 ^the trail of the whit* 
Steed. 

Mounting. Cyprio, and .choosing from my band half a dozen of 
the best trackers , was the work of a moment. In another, we 
were in the saddle ; and descending the hill, we plunged rapidly 
through the stream, crossed the skirting timber, and soon reached 
the open prairie. 

Under Cyprio’s . guidance, we found the spot desecrated by 
that cruel desplay. The ground w r as trampled by many hoofs ; 
fragments of paper — powder blackened — broken rocket-sticks, 
and half-burnt fuses, strewed the sward — the pyrotechnic Yreliquia, 
of the. fiendish spectacle. 

We halted not there. By the aid of our guide and the moon- 
light, we rode- clear of the. confusion ; and taking up the trail 
of the horse, struck off upon- it, and were soon far out upon the 
prairie. 

For more than a mile we advanced at a gallop. Time was 
everything. Trusting to the intelligence of the Mexican boy, we 
scarcely scrutinized the track, but made directly for the point 
where the horse had been last .seen. 

Cyprio’s information did not deceive us. A motte ofi timber 
had. served him asa .miark: the ^teed had passed .close to its 
edge. Beyond it, he hadseen him no 'more. 

Beyond it, we found the. tracks, easily xecognizable by Rube, 
Garey, and myself. There was a peculiarity by which we were 
prevented froimmistaking them : three of the prints were clearly 
cut in the turf — almost perfect circles — the curve of the fourth- 
of the fore-foot — was interrupted by a slight indentation, where a 
piece had been broken from the hoof. It had been done in that 
terriblejeap upon the rocky bed of the. barranca. 

Taking the trail again, we. kept on — now, advancing at a 
slower pace, and with a greater degree of caution. Late rains 
had moistened the prairie-turf and we could perceive the- tracks 


TAKING THE TRAIL. 


o 1 c, 

uIC 

without -dismounting At intervals there were stretches of drier 
surface, where the hoofs had scarcely left its, impression. In 
such plades, one leaped from the saddle, and led the way on foot. 
Rube or Garey usually performed this office ; and so rapidly did 
they move along the trail, that our horses were seldom in a walk. 
WithJmdies half bent, and eyes gliding along the ground, they 
pressed forward like hounds running by the scent, but, unlike 
these, the trackers made no noise. Not a word was -spoken by 
any one. I had no list for speech ; my agony was too intense 
for utterance. 

With.Cyprio I had .conversed upon theJiarrowing theme, and 
that only at starting. From him I had gathered further details. 
No doubt, the matador had performed his office. 0 God ! 
without, vears ! 

Cyprio had seen-blood ; it was streaming adown her neck and 
over her bosom ; her slight garments were stained red with it. 
He knew mot .whence it _came, or why she was bleeding. He 
was not^present when that blood had been drawn ; it was in her 
chamber, he, thought. She jwas_. bleeding when the ruffians 
dragged her forth. 

Belike^ too, the herrero had. done his work ? Cyprio had 
seen the .blacksmith, but. not th z.„fierro. He heard they had 
branded some at the.. plaza, among others the daughter of the 
alcalde — pobre Conchita ! He did not see them brand the Dona 
Isolina.'" 

The ruffian deed might have been .accomplished for all that ; 
there was plenty of time, while the boy lay hid. 

How was she placed upon the horse ? 

Despite my. heart’s -bitterness, as I put these interrogatories, 
I could not JieJp thinking of the,Uossack legend. The famed 
classic picture .came vividly before my unind. Wide was the dis- 
tance between the Ukraine and the Rio Bravo. Had the mon- 
sters" who re-enacted Ahis ^cene on the, banks of the Mexican 
river — bad these ever heard of Mazeppa ? Possibly their leader 


316 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


had ; but still more probable that the fiendish thought was ori- 
ginal. 

The'fashion-at least was. Cyprio had seen and could describe 
it. 

She was laid longitudinally upon the. back of the steed, her 
head resting upon the point of his shoulder. Her. face was 
downward, her cheek touching the„ withers. Her arms-embraced 
the neck, and her wrists were made fast under the. animal’s 
throat. Her body was held in position by means of a belt around 
her waist, attached to a surcingle on the horse — both tightly 
buckled. In addition to this, her ankles,, bound together by a 
thong, were fastened to the .croup, with her feet . projecting, be- 
yond the hips ! 

I-groaned as Idistened do the details. 

The ligature was ..perfect — cruelly -complete. There was. no 
hope that such fastenings would give way. Those thongs of raw- 
hide would not come undone. . Horse andrider could never part 
from that unwilling embrace — never, till hunger, thirst, death — • 
no, not even death could part them 1 0 horror ! 

Not without groans could I contemplate the hideous fate he f 
my betrothed^-of her whosedove had-become my life. 

I left tha.dracking* to my-comrades, and my horse to -follow 
after. I rode with loose rein, and head drooping forward ; I 
scarcely gave thought to design. My heart was well-nigh broken. 


THE VOYAGEUK. 


317 


CHAPTER LYIII. * 

THE VOYAGEUR. 

We had not gone . far when some one^closed up beside me, and 
muttered a word of cheer ; I recognized the friendly voice of the 
bigArapper. 

“Don’t be^afeerd, cap’n,” said he in a tone of encouragement; 
“ don’t be ^afeerd ! Rube an me’U find ’em afore thar’s any 
harm done. I don’t b’lieve the white hoss ’ll gallip fur, knowin 
thar’s someb’dy on his back. It war them gim-cracks that sot 
him. off. When they burn out, he’ll come to a dead halt, an 
<hen ” 

“ And then ?” I inquired mechanically. 

“ We’ll get up, an your black’ll be able to overhaul him in a 
jump or two.” 

I began to feel hope. It was but a momentary gleam, and 
died out in the next instant. 

If the moon ’ud only- hold_out,” continued- Garey, with an em- 
phasis denoting doubt. 

“ Rot the moon 1” said a voice interrupting him ; “ she’s 
gwine to_guv out. Wagh 1” 

It was Rube who had uttered the unpleasant prognostication, 
in a peevish, but confident‘tone. 

All eyes were turned- upward. The moon, round and white, 
was sailing through a cloudless sky, and ..almost in the zenith. 
How, then, was she to “ give out ?” She was near the full, and 
could not .net before- morning. What did Rube mean? The 
question was -put to him. 


318 


THE WAE-TKAIL. 


S cLqa , 

“ Lookee^ander !” said he in reply. 11 D’ees see tket ur black 

line, down, low on the paraira ?” 

There appeared a dark streak along the horizon to the east- 
ward. Yes, we saw it. 

“Wal,” continued Rube, “ thur’s no. timber thur— ne’er a 
stick — nor high- groun neyther : thet ur’s a cloud ; I’ve seed the 
likes afore. Wait a bit. Wagh ! In jest, ten minutes, the 
durned thing’ll kiver up the moon, and make thet pretty blue 
sky look as black as the hide ’o an Afrikin niggur — it will.” 

“ I’m afeerd he’s right, cap’n,” said Garey, in a desponding 
tone. “ I war doubtful o’ it myself : the sky looked too -near. I 
didn’t like it a bit : tliar’s always a. .change when things are bet- 
ter’n common.” 

I needed not to. inquire the. consequences, should Rube’s pre- 
diction prove correct ; that was evident to .all of us. The rnoonv 
once .obscured by clouds. our v progress would be arrested’: even 
a horse, could not be tracked in the darkness. 

We were not. long in- suspense. Again the- foresight of the 
old trapper proved*, unerring. Cumuli rolled up the sky one 
after another, until their black masses shrouded the moon. At 
first, they came only in detached clouds, and there was light at 
intervals ; but these were only the advanced columns of ^heavier 
body, that soon .appeared, and without a break,, spread itself 
pall-like over the firmament. 

The moon’s., disc became entirely hidden from our view ; her 
scattered beams died out, and the prairie lay dark as if shad- 
owed by an eclipse. 

We could follow the. trail.no further. The ground itself was 
not ..visible, much less the hoof-printsVe had been tracing ; and 
halting, simultaneously, we. drew our horses together, and sat in 
onr.saddles to. deliberate upon what was best to be done. 

The consultation was a short one. They who- formed that 
little party were all men of prairie or backwoods experience, 
well versed in the ways of the wilderness. It took them 



THE VOYAGEUR. 


SIU 


little time to decide what- course should be. followed ; and they 
were unanimous in their- opinion. Should the sky. continue 
clouded, we must give up the. pursuit till morning, or adopt the 
only alternative — follow the trail up hj torch-light. 

Of course thejatter was ..determined upon. It was yet.early in 
the_ night ; many hours must intervene before we should have 
the., light of day. I could not live through these long hours 
without_.action. Even though our progress might be slow, the 
knowledge that we were advancing would help to stifle the pain- 
fulness of reflection. 

“ A torch 1 a torch !” 

Where was such a thing to be procured ? We had with us 
no material with which to make one ; there was no timber near ! 
We were in the. middle of a naked prairie. The universal mezquite 
— the algar obia glandulosar-—ex cellent for such a purpose, grew 
nowhere in the neighborhood. Who was to find the torch ? 
Even Rube’s ingenuity could not make one out of nothing. 

“ Ecoutez, mon capitaine I” cried Le Blanc, an old voyageur 
— “ecoutez ! vy me no. ride back, et von lanterne bring from ze 
ville Mexicaine ?” 

True,, why not ? We were, yet but a. few miles from the ran- 
cheria. The Canadian’s idea was a good one. 

“ Je connais,” he continued — “know I, pe gar ! ze ver spot 
ou — vere — sont cachees — hid — les chandelles maguifiques — von, 
deux, tree big candles— ^vax — vax.” 

“ Wax candles V* 

“ Oui — oui,, messieurs I tres grand comme un baton ; ze ver 
chose pour allumer la prairie ” 

“ You know where they are ? You could find them, Le 
Blanc ?” 

“Oui,. messieurs — je. connais : les chandelles sont cachees dans 
I’dglise— zey are in ze church hid.” 

*' Ha 1 in the -church ?” 

; ‘ Oui, messieurs c’est un graud sacrilege, mon Dieu 1 ver 


320 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


bad ; mais n’importe cela. Eef mon capitaine permis, vill allo'w 
pour aller. Monsieur Quack’bosh, he go chez moi ; nous cherch- 
erons ; ve bring ze chandelles — pe gar we. bring him P 

From the mixed gibberish of the voyageur, I could gather his 
meaning well enough. He knew of a depository of wax candles, 
and the church of the rancheria was the place in which they were 
kept. 1 was not in a frame of mind to care much for the sacri- 
lege, and my companions were still less scrupulous. The act was 
determined upon, and Le Blanc and Quackenboss, without more 
delay, took the back-track for the village. 

The rest of us dismounted, and picketing our horses to the 
grass, lay down to await the return of the messengers y 


CHAPTER LIX. 

TRAILING BY TORCH - LIGHT. 

While thus inactive, my mind yielded itself up to -the cpn 
templation of painful probabilities. Horrid spectacles pasted 
before my imagination. I saw the white horse galloping o\^r 
the plain* pursued by wolves, and shadowed by black vultures. 
To escape these hungry pursuers, I saw him. dash into the thick 
chaparral, to encounter the red . panther or the fierce prowling 
bear — there to-Bncounter the sharp thorns of the acacias, the 
barbed spines of the cactus, and the recurving claw-like arma- 
ture of the wild .aloes. I could see the red blood .streaming 
dtfown his white flanks — not. Aw blood, but that of the helpless 
victim stretched prostrate along his back. I could see the 
lacerated limbs — the ankles chafed and swollen — the garments 
torn to shreds — the. drooping bead — the long loose hair tossed 
aud trailing to the earth — the white wan lips — the woe-bespeak- 


TRAILING BY TORCH-LIGHT. 


321 


ing eyes Oh! I could , bear my .reflections no longer. 1 

sprang to my . feet, and paced the prairie with the aimless 
unsteady step of a madman. 

Again the kind-hearted trapper approached, and renewed hi& 
efforts to console me. 

“We could follow the trail,” be said, “ by torch or candle 
lights almost as fast as we could travel; we should be many 
miles along it before morning; maybe before then we should get 
sight of the steed. It would not be hard to surround and cap- 
ture him ; now that he was half-tamed, he might not run from 
us; if he did, he could be overtaken. Once in view, we would 
not lose sight of him again. The saynydra would be safe 
enoagh; there was ^nothing to hurt her: the. wolves would not 
khow the “ fix ” she. was in, neyther the “bars” nor “ painters.” 
We should becsure to come up with her~ before the next night, 
and would find her ..first rate ; a little., tired and hungry, nc 
doubt, but .nothing to, hurt. We should relieve her, and rest 
would set all right again.” 

Notwithstanding the rude, phrase in which these consolatory 
remarks were made, I appreciated the kind intent. 

Garey’s speech had the effect of rendering me more hopeful ; 
and in calmer mood, I awaited the return of Quackenboss and 
the Canadian. 

These did not linger. Two hours had been allowed them tc 
perform their errand; but long before the expiration of that 
period, we heard the double trampling of their horses as they 
came galloping across the plaim. 

In a few minutes they.jode up, and we could see in the hands 
of Le Blanc . three whitish objects, that in length and thickness 
resembled stout walking-canes. We recognized les chanddles 
magnijiques. 

They were the property of the church, designed no doubt, 
to have illumined the altar upon the occasion of some grand d\% 
d*. fiesta. 


14 * 


322 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


“Yoila! mon, capitame!” cried the Canadian, as he rode 
forward, “ voila les .chandelles! Ah, mon Dieu ! c’est von big 
sacrilege, et~je suis boa Chretien— buen Catolico, as do call ’im 
ze dam Mexicaine ; bien — ze bon Dieu we forgive — God ve par- 
don vill.pour — for the grand. necessitie ; sureucertaine he vill me 
pardon — Lige et moi — ze brave- Monsieur Quack’bosh.” 

The messengers- had brought-news from the. village. Some 
rough, proceedings had taken,, place since our departure. Men 
had been, punished ; fresh victims had been, found under the 
guidance of Pedro and others of the abused. The trees in the 
church enclosure that night bore horrid fruit. 

The alcalde was not dead; and Don Ramon, it was supposed, 
still survived, but had been carried off a prisoner by the guer- 
rilla 1 The. rangers were.yet.at the-rancheria;. many had- been 
desirous of .-returning witALe Blanc and -Quackeuboss, but I had 
sent orders to the lieutenants to. take all back to camp aasoon 
as their affair was over. The fewer of the troop that should be 
absent, the less likelihood of our being. missed, and those I had 
with me I deemed enough for my purpose. Whether successful 
or not, we should soon return to camp. It would then be time 
to devise some scheme for capturing the leader and prime actor 
in this terrible tragedy. 

Hardly waiting to hear the story, we lighted the great candles, 
and moved once.more along the trail. 

Fortunately, the -breeze was but- slight, and only served to 
make the huge waxen torches flare more- freely. By their bril- 
liant -blaze, we were, enabled to, take up the .tracks,- quite as 
rapidly as by the moonlight. At this point, the horse had been 
still, going at full gallop ; and his,course, as it ran in a direct 
line, Tendered it more. easy to be followed. 

Dark as the night was, we soon ..perceived we were, heading 
for a point well known to all of us— the prairie. mound ; and^un- 
der a faint belief that the. steed might have^ there come to a stop, 
we pressed forward with a sort of hopeful anticipation 


TRAILING BY TORCH-LIGHT. 


323 


After anjiour’s .tracking, the -white cliffsJoomed within the 
circle of our view, the shining,. selenite glancing back the light of 
our papers, like a wall set with diamonds. 

We approached with caution, still keeping on . the trail, but 
also keenly scrutinizing the ground in advance of us — in hopes 
of perceiving thejsbject of our search. Neither by the cliff, nor 
/tn' "the gloom around, was living form to* be traced. 

Sure .-enough the . steed had halted there, or, at all events, 
ceased from his wild gallop. He had.approached the mound in 
a -walk, as the tracks testified ; but how, and in what direction 
had he gone, thence ? His hoof-print&mo longer^appeared. He 
had. passed, over the,. shingle, that covered the plain to a distance 
ofl many -yards from the -base of the cliff, and no track could be 
found beyond. 

Several times we went around the mesa, carrying our candles 
everywhere. We saw, skeletons of men and horses with skulls 
detached t ,fragments of dresses, and pieces of broken armor — sou- 
venirs of our late^kirmish — we looked into our little fortress, and 
gazed upon thej*ock that had.sheltered us ; we glanced up the 
gorge where we had -climbed, and beheld the rope by. which we 
had descended still hanging in its place : all. these we saw, but 
no further, traces of the steed ! 

Round and-round we went, back and forward, over the stony , 
shingle, and along its outer edge, but still without coming upon 
the tracks. Whither could the horse have gone 1 

Perhaps, with a .better Jight, we might havg found the trail; 
but for a, long hour we searched, without striking upon any sign 
of it. Perhaps we might . still have found it, even with our 
waxen torches, but for anjneident that not only interrupted our 
search, but filled us with fresh„apprehension, and almost stifled 
Our hopes of success. 

The Interruption did not come unexpected. The clouds had 
for some time given ample warning. The big solitary drops 
that at intervals fell with plashing noise upon the rocks, we^e 


324 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


but the .avant-courriers of one of the great rain storms of the 
prairie, when water descends as if from a -shower-bath. We 
knew from the-signs that such a storm was^nigh ; and while 
casting .around to recover the trail, it commenced in all its fury. 

Almost in anvinstant our . lights were extinguished, and our 
LvdStjess-aearch. brought to a termination. 

' We drew up under the rocks, and stood side by side in sullen 
silence. Even the elements seemed; against me. In my heart’s 
bitterness, I cursed- them. 


C H A P T Eft LX. 


THE SOMBRERO. 


The horses cowered under the cold rain, all of them, jaded 
and hungry. The hot dusty march of the tnorning, and the 
long rough gallop of the night, had exhausted their strength ; 
and they stood with drooped heads and hanging ears, dozing 
and motionless. 

The men, too, were wearied — some of them quite- worn out 
A few kept their -feet, - bridle in . hand, under shelter of the 
impending , cliff ; the .others, having , staggered down, with their 
backs-against the, rock, had almost instantly, fallen asleep. 

For me was neither sleep nor rest; 1 did not even, seek pro- 
tection against the storm, but standing clear of the cliff, received 
the drenching shower full upon my shoulders. It was the chill 
rain of the “ norther but at that moment neither cold .nortt 
nor hot.sirocco could have produced upon me an impression of, 
pain. To physical suffering I waa insensible. I should -evei\ 
have. welcomed it, for I well understood the. truth, proverbially 
expressed in that language, rich above all others in proverbial 


THE SOMBRERO. 


325 


lore — “ un clavo saca otro clavo ” and still more fully ill istrated 
by the poet: 

Tristezas me hacen triste, 

Tristezas salgo a buscar, 

A ver si con tristezas 
Tristezas puedo olvidar. 

¥es, under any other- form, I should have welcomed physical 
pain as a neutralizer of my mental anguish ; but that cold 
norther brought no ■consolation. 

Sadly the reverse. It was the harbinger of keen apprehen- 
sion; for not only had it interrupted our search, but should the 
heavy rain continue but for a few hours, we might be able 
neither to find or further to follow the trail. It would be 
. WiWed-^-obliterated-vlost. Can you wonder that in my heart 
I execrated those black clouds, and that driving deluge ? — that 
with my lips I cursed the sky and the.storm, the moon and the 
stars, the red lightning and the rolling. thunder ? 

Mv. anathema ended, I stood in sullen silence, leaning against 
the body of my brave horse, whose sides .shivered under the 
chilly rain, though I felt not its chill. 

Absorbed in gloomy thought, I recked not what was passing 
around me; and for an unnoted period I remained in this 
speechless abstraction. 

My reverie was broken. Some expressions that reached my 
ear told me that at least two of my followers had not yielded to 
weariness or despair. Two of them were in conversation; and 
I easily recognized the voices of the trappers. Tireless, used 
to -stern* struggles — to constant warfare with the elen^nts, with 
nature herself — these true men never thought of giving up, 
until the last effort of human ingenuity had failed. From their 
conversation, I gathered that they had not yet-lost hope of find- 
ing the trail, but were meditating on some..plan for recovering 
and following it. 

With renewed eagerness I faced towards them and listened; 


326 


THE WAK-TKAIL. 


both talked in a low voice. Garey was .speaking, as I turner 
to them. 

“I guess you’re right, Rube. TheL.hoss must a gone thar, an 
if so, we’re boun’ to . fetch his -tracks. Thar’s mud, if I, remem- 
ber-right, all roun’ the pool. We can carry the candle under 
Dutch’s, sombrera.’-’ 

“ Ye-es,” drawled,. Rube in reply; “ an ef this niggur don’t 
miskalk’late, we ain’t a gwine to need eyther cannel or som- 
brairy. Lookee . yanderl” — the speaker pointed to a break in 
the clouds — “I’ll stake high, I kih.mizyure this- hyur shower 
wi’ the-tail o’ a goat. Wagh! we’ll-hev the moon agin, clur as 
iver, in the inside o’ ten minnits — see ef we haint.” 

“So .much the better, old hoss; but hadn’t we best first try 
for the tracks ? time’s precious, Rube ” 

“ Imcoorse it ur; git the cannel an the sombrairy, an le’s be 
off then. The rest of these fellurs had better stay hyur; thu’ll 
only bamboozle us.” 

“ Lige!” called out Garey, addressing himself to Quackenboss 
— “ Lige! gi’ us yur hat a bit.” 

A loud snore was the only reply. The ranger, seated with 
his back against the rock, and his head drooping over his breast, 
was sound asleep. 

“ Durned sleepyhead!” exclaimed Rube, in a tone of peevish 
impatience. “Prod ’im wi’ the point o’ yur bowie, Bill! Rib- 
roast ’im wi’ yur wipin-stick! Lam -’im wi’ yur laryette! — gi’^ 
’im a-kick i’ the-guts! — roust ’im up, durn ’im!” 


“ Lige!— ho! — Dutchy !” cried Garey, approaching the sleeper, 
and shaking him by the shoulder; “ I want your sombrera.” 

“Ho! wo!- stand still! Jingo, he’ll throw me. I can’t geJt 
off; the- spurs are -locked. Hoi wo! wo!” 

Rube and Garey broke into a loud^cachinnation that awakened 
the rest of the slumberers. Quackenboss alone remained asleep, 
fighting in his dreams with the wild Indian horse. 

“Durned mulehead!” cried Rube, after a pause; “let ’im gc 


THE TRAIL RECOVERED. 


32 ? 


uii ai 4het’s long’s he- likes it. Chuck the hat off o’ his head, 
Bill I we don’t, want him —* thet we don’t.” 

There was a little, pique in the trapper’s tone. The breach 
that the ranger had. made, while-., acting as a faithful sentinel 
was not yet-bealed. 

Garey made no. further attempts to. arouse the sleeper, but in 
obedience to the- order of bis comrade, Jifted off the hat; and, 
having procured one of the great candles, he and Rube started 
off without saying another word, or . giving any clue to their 
design. 

Though^’oyed at -what I had heard, I refrained from interro- 
gating, them. Some of my followers who put. questions received 
only-ambiguous answers. From the manner of the trappers, I 
saw that they wished to be left to themselves; and I could well 
trust them to therdevelopment of whatever design they had con- 
ceived. 

Oil leaving us, they walked straight out from the cliff ; but 
how far they continued in this direction it was impossible to telL 
They had not lighted the candle; and after going half-a-dozen 
steps, their forms disappeared from our view amidst the dark- 
ness and thickly falling rain. 


CHAPTER L X I . 

THE TRAIL RECOVERED. 

The rangers, after a, moment of -speculation as to the designs 
of the trappers, resumed their attitude of repose. Fatigued as 
they were, .even the cold could not keep them awake. 

After a pause, the voice of Quackenboss could be. heard, in 
proof that that heavy sleeper was at length aroused; the rain. 


32 $ 


THE WAR TRAIL. 


falling upon his half bald skull, had been more effective than the 
shauts and shaking of Garey. 

“ Hillo! When s my, hat ?-’ inquired he, in a mystified tone, 
at the same time-stirring himself, and groping about among tho 
rocks. “ Where is my hat ? Boys, did any o’ ye see anything 
o’ a -hat, did ye ?” His shouts again awoke the sleepers 

“ What-aort of a hat, Lige ?”- inquired one. 

“ A black hat — that Mexican sombrera.” 

“ Oh! a black hat; no — I saw t.o black hat.” 

“You darned Dutchman! who do you expect could see a 
black hat such a night as this, or a white one cyther ? Go to 
sleep!” 

“ Come boys, I don’t want none o’ your nonsense: I want my 
hat. Who’s got my hat ?” 

“ Are you sure it was a black hat ?” 

“Bah! the wind haa carried it away.” 

“Pe.gar! Monsieur Quack’bosh — votre chapeau grand — 
you great' beeg ’at — est il -perdu ? — is loss ? — c’est vrai ? Par 
dieul les loups — ze wolfs have it carr’d avay — have it mangg — 
est? c’est. vrai !” 

“ None o’ your gibberish, Frenchy. Have you got my hat ?” 

“Moi? votre- chapeau grand! No r Monsieur Quack’bosh — 
vraimenjt je ne l’ai pas; pe gar, no!” 

“ Have you got it, Stanfield ?” asked the botanist, addressing 
himself to a Kentucky backwoodsman of that name. 

“ Dang yer hat! What shed I do wi’ yer hat? I’ve got my 
own hat, and that’s hat enough for me.” 

“ Have you my hat, Bill Black ?” 

“No,” was the prompt reply; “I’ve got neery hat but my 
own, and that ain’t black, I reckon, ’cept sich a night as this;” 

“I tell you what, Lige, old fellow! you lost your hat while 
you were a rulin’ the mustang just now; the hoss kicked it off o’ 
your head.” 

A chorus of laughter followed this sally, in the midst of which 


THE TRAIL RECOVERED. 


329 


^uackenboss could be beard apostrophizing both his hat and his 
comrades in no very respectful terms. He continued to scram- 
ble over the aground in vain search after the lost sombrero, 
amidst#the jokes and laughter, uttered at his expense. 

To this merriment of my followers I gave but little heed; my 
thoughts were intent on other things. My eyes were fixed upon 
that bright spot in the sky, that had been pointed out by Rube; 
and my heart gladdened, as I perceived that it was every mo- 
ment growing brighter and bigger. The rain still fell thick 
and fast; but the- edge of the cloud-curtain was slowly rising 
above the eastern horizon, as though drawn up bv some invisible 
hand. Should the movement, continue, I felt confident that in 
a few minutes — as Rube had predicted — the sky would be clear 
again, and the moon shining brightly as ever. These were joy- 
ous anticipations. 

At intervals I glanced toward the prairie, and I listened to 
catch some sound — either the voices of the trappers, or the 
tread of their returning footsteps. No such sounds could be 
heard. 

I was becoming-impatient, when I.perceived a sudden waif 
of light far out upon the plain. It seemed to be again extin- 
guished, but in the. same place, and the moment after, appeared 
a small, steady flame, twinkling like a solitary star through the 
bluish mist of the rain. For a few. seconds it remained fixed, 
and then commenced moving — as if carried low down along the 
surface of the ground. 

There was nothing mysterious about this lone light. To 
Quackenboss. only it remained an unexplained apparition ; and 
he might have, mistaken it for the, fata morgana. The others 
had been awake when Rube and Garey took their departure, 
and easily recognised the lighted ^candle in the hands of the 
trappers. 

For some time the light appeared to move backwards^ and for- 
wards, turning at short distances, or as if Wne in irregular 


330 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


circles, or in zigzag lines. We could -perceive the sheen of water 
between us and the flame, as though there was a pond, oi per- 
haps a portion of the prairie,, flooded by the rain. 

After a. while the light became fixed, and a sharp exclamation 
was heard across the plain, which all of us recognized as being 
in the voice of the trapper Rube. Again the light was in 
motion — now flitting along more rapidly, as if carried in a 
straight line across the prairie. 

We followed it with eager eyes. We saw it was moving fur- 
ther and further away ; and my companions hazarded the con- 
jecture that the trappers had recovered the trail. 

This was soon verified by one of themselves-*-Garey — whose 
hugejorm, looming through the mist, was seen approaching the 
spot ; and -though the expression of his . face could not be noted 
in the darkness, his bearing betokened that he brought cheerful 
tidings. 

“ Rube’s struck the trail, capt’n,” said he in a quiet voice, as 
he came up : “yonder he. goes, whar you see the bleeze o’ the 
cannel ! He’ll soon be out o’, sight, if we don’t make haste, an 
follow.” 

Without another word we seized the reins, sprang once more 
into our saddles, and rode off after the twinkling star, that bea- 
coned us across the plain. 

Rube was soon. overtaken, and we perceived that, despite the 
storm, he was rapidly progressing along the trail, his candle 
sheltered from the rain under the ample sombrero. 

In answer to numerous queries, the old trapper vouchsafed 
only an occasional “ Wagh,” evidently proud of this new exhibi- 
tion of his^skill. With Garey, the curious succeeded better ; 
and as we continued on, the latter explained to them how the 
trail had been recovered by his comrade— for to Rube, it ap- 
peared, was the credit due. 

Rube remembered the mesa spring. It was the water in its 
branch that we had seen. gleaming under the light. The though^ 


THE TRAIL RECOVERED. 


331 

ful trapper .conjectured, and rightly as it -proved, that the-steed 
would ^stop there to -drink. He had„.passed along the stony 
shingle by the mound — simply -because around the cliff lay his 
nearest way to the water — and had followed a dry ridge that 
led directly from the mesa to the spring branch. Along this 
ridge, going gently at the time, his hoof had left no marks— at 
least none that could be distinguished by torch-light, and this 
was why the trail had been for the moment lost. Rube, how- 
ever, remembered that around the .spring there was a tract of 
soft, boggy ground ; and he anticipated that in this the hoof 
prints would leave a, deep impression. To find them he needed 
only a “ kiver” for the candle, and the huge hat of Quackenboss 
offered the very thing. An umbrella would scarcely have been 
better for his. purpose. 

As the trappers had conjectured, they found the tracks in the 
muddy margin of the spring-branch. The steed had drunk at 
the pool; but immediately after had resumed his -wild flight, 
goingjvestward from the mound. 

Why had he gone off at a gallop ? Had he been alarmed by 
aught? Or had he taken fresh. affright at the strange rider 
upon his back ? 

I questioned Garey. I saw that he knew why. He needed 
pressing for the answer. 

He gave it ah length, but with evident reluctance. 

“ Thar are wolf-traces on the rail.” 


333 


THE WAR- TRAIL. 


CHAPTER LXII. 

WOLVES ON THE TRACK. 

The wolves, then, were after him ! 

The trackers had made out their., footprints in the mud of the 
arroyo. Both, kinds had been there — the large brown wolf of 
Texas, and the small barking- coyote of the plains — a full- pack 
there had been, as the trappers could tell by the numerous 
tracks. That they were following the horse, the tracks also 
testified to these men of strange intelligence. How knew they 
this ? By what sign ? 

To my inquiries, I obtained answer from Garey. 

Above the, spring branch extended a shelving bank ; up this 
the steed had bounded, after drinking at the pool. XJp this, 
too, the -wolves had sprung after : they had left the- indentation 
of their -claws in the soft loam. 

How knew Garey that they were in pursuit of the horse ? 

The - scratches ” told him they were going at their fastest, and 
they would not have sprung so far had they not been pursuing 
some prey. There were footmarks of no other animal except 
theirs and the hoof-prints of the steed ; and that they were 
after him was evident to the trapper, because the tracks of the 
wolves-covered those of the horse. 

Garey had no mere doubt of the correctness of his reasoning 
than a geometrician of the truth of a theorem in Euclid. 

I groaned in spirit as I was forced to adopt his conclusion. 
But it was all probable— too probable. Had the steed been 
alone-^unembarrassed— free — it was not likely the wolves would 
have -chased him thus. The wild horse injf is- prime is rarely the 


WOLVES ON THE TRACK. 


333 


object of their attack — though the old and infirm, the gravid 
mare, and the feeble colt, often fall before these hungry hunters 
of the plains. Both common wolf and coyote possess all the 
astuteness of the fox, and know, as if by instinct, the animal 
that is wounded to death. They will follow the stricken deer 
that has escaped from the hunter ; but if it prove to be but 
slightly harmed, instinctively they abandon the chase. 

Their instinct had told them that the steed was not ridden by 
a free hand ; they had seen that there was something amiss ; and 
in the hope of running down both horse and rider, they had fol- 
lowed with hungry howl. 

Another fact lent probability to this painful conjecture : we 
knew thatJby the mesa were many .wolves. 

The spring was the constantjesort of. ruminant animals, deer 
and antelopes ; the half-wild cattle of th e ganaderos drank there, 
and the tottering calf oft became the prey of the coyote and his 
more powerful congener, the gaunt Texan wolf. There was. still 
another, reason why the place must of late have been th^ favor- 
ite^prowl of these hideous -brutes : the debris of our -skirmish 
had furnished them with many a midnight banquet. They had 
ravened upon the -blood ofimen and the flesh of horses, and they 
hungered for, more. 

That they might succeed in running down the steed, cumbered 
as he was, was. probable enough. Sooner or later they would 
overtake him. It might be after a long, long gallop over hill 
and dale, through swamp and chaparral ; but still it was pro- 
bable those tough, tireless pursuers would overtake him. They 
would launch themselves upon his Sanks ; they would seize upon 
his wearied limbs — upon hers, the helpless. victim upon his back : 
both horse and rider would be. dragged to the earth — both torn 
— parted in piecesA-devoured I 

I groaned under the horrid apprehension. 

“ Look ihar 1” said G arey, pointing to the ground, and hold- 
ing his torch so as, to illuminate the surface ; “ the hoss has 


334 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


made a slip thar. See ! hyar’s the track o’ the. big wolf — he has 
sprang up jest hyar ; I can tell by the scratch o’ his hind-claws.” 

I examined the “sign.” Even to my eyes it was readable - , 
and just as Garey had interpreted it. There were other tracks 
of wolves on the damp soil, but one had certainly launched him- 
self forward, in a long leap, as though in an effort to fasten 
himself upon the flanks of some animal. The hoof-mark plainly 
showed that the steed had slipped as he sprang over the wet 
ground $ and this had tempted the spring of the watchful pursuer. 

We hurried on. Our excited feelings hindered us from paus 
Ing longer than a moment. Both rangers and trappers shared 
my eagerness, as well as my apprehensions. Past as the torches 
could be carried, we hurried on. 

Shortly after, parting from the mesa, there occurred a change 
in our favor. The lights had been carried under hats to pro- 
tect them from the rain. This precaution was no longer requir- 
ed. The storm had passed — the shower ceasing as suddenly as 
it had come on ; the clouds were fast driving from the face oi- 
the firmament. In. five minutes more, the moon would shine 
forth. Already her. refracted rays lightened the prairie. 

We did not. stay for her full beam ; time was too precious. 
Still trusting to the torches, we hurried on. 

The beautiful . queen of the night kept her promise. In five 
minutes, her cheering orb shot out beyond the margin of the 
dark pall that had hitherto shrouded it, and her white disc, as 
if purified by the . storm, shone with unwonted brightness. The 
ground became conspicuous almost as in the day ; the torches 
were extinguished, and we followed the trail more rapidly by the 
light of the moon. 

Here, still in full gallop, had passed the wild horse, and for 
miles beyond — still had he gone at utmost speed. Still close 
upon his heels had followed the ravenous and untiring-wolves 
Here and there were the prints of their 4lawed feet— the signs 
of their unflagging pursuit. 


ACROSS THE TORRENT* 


335 


The roar of water sounded iu our ears : it came from the di- 
rection in which the trail was conducting us ; a stream was not 
far distant. 

We soon diminished the distance. A glassy sheet glistened 
under the moonlight. And towards this the trail tended in a 
straight line. 

It was a river — a cataract was, near, down whict the water, 
freshened by the late rain, came tumbling,. broken by the rocks 
into^ hummocks of white., foam. Under the- moonlight, it ap- 
peared Tike au avalanche of- snow. The trappers recognized an 
affluent of the Rio Bravo, running from the north-^from the high 
steppe of the Llano Estacado. 

We hurried forward to its bank, and opposite the frothing 
rapids. The trail conducted us to this point — to the very edge 
of the foaming-water. It ledmo further. There were the hoof- 
marks forward to the brink, but not back. The horse had 
plunged into the torrent. 


CHAPTER L X 1 1 1 . 


ACROSS THE TORRENT. 


Surely was it~so. Into that seething, rapid the steed had 
launched himself — where the. spume was whitest, and the rocks 
gave out their hoarsestechoes. The four hoof-prints,., close to- 
gether upon the bank, showed the point from which he had 
sprung, and the .deeply indented turf testified that he had made 
W timid leap. The .pursuers had been close upon his heels, 
and he had .flung himself with desperate plunge upon the water 
Had he succeeded in crossing ? It was our first thought. It 
appeared improbable — impossible. Notwithstanding its foam 


S3 G 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


bednppled surface, the current was swift, and looked as though 
it would sweep either man or horse from his footing. Surely it 
was too deep to be forded. Though here and there rocks were 
seen ^above the surface, they were but the crests of large 
boulders, and between them the impetuous wave ran dark and 
deep. Had the horse lost footing ? had he been forced to swim ? 
If so, he must have been carried with the current — his body 
submerged — his withers sunk below the surface — his helpless 
rider 

The conclusion was. evident to. all of us. All felt the convic- 
tion simultaneously. No — not all. There came a word of com- 
fort from the oldest and wisest — a word that gave cheer to my 
drooping spirit. 

“ Wagh 1 the boss bain’t swum a lick he hain’t.” 

“ Are you sure, Rube ? How can you tell ?” were the quick 
interrogatories. 

“Sure — how. kin I telH-i’deed, how,” replied Rube, a little 
nettled at our having -questioned his .judgment. “What the 
devul’s yur eyes good for-^all o’ yur ? Lookee,,hyur ! and I’ll 
show ee how I tell. Do’ee. see the color o’ thet water ? — it ur 
as brown as a bufiler in the Fall ; thurfor its. fresh kim down ; 
and jest afore the shower, thur want raore’n half o’ it in the^chan- 
nel. Then the boss. mout a waded ’crossthyur, easy as fallin off 
a log, and then the hoss -did wade acrosst.” 

“ He.. crossed before the rain ?” 

“ Shure as a shot from Targuts. Look at the tracks ! Them 
wur made.mfore a drop o’ rain kim down : ef they hedn’t, they’d 
been a durned sight deeper in the sod. Wagh ! the .Foss got 
safe acrosst ’ithout wettin a hair o’ his hips. So far as drown- 
din’ goes, don’t be skeeart ’bout thet, young fellur ! the gurl’s 
Safe- enough yii*” 

“ And the wolves ? Do you think they have followed acros«f 
the stream ?” 

“ Ne’er a wolf o’ ’hem — ne’er a one — the vamints hed more 


ACROSS THE TORRENT. 


337 


sense. They knowd thur legs wan’t. long enough, an thet ur 
current Jtvud a swep ’em a mile afore they, kud a swum half way 
acrosst. The .wolves, they stayed on.this side, I reck’n. Look 
hyur — hyur’s thur tracks. Wagh! thur wur a wheen o’ the 
filthy beests. Geehosophat 1 the bank ur. paddled like a 
sheep-pen.” 

We bent, down to examine the ground. Sure enough, it was 
covered with the tracks of wolves. A numerous band had crowd- 
ed together on the spot ; and as the prints of their feet pointed 
in all directions, it was evideut they had not gone forward, but 
brought to a stand by the torrent, had given up the chase and 
scattered away. 

Pray Heateu it was no mere conjecture ! 

With- Rube.it was a belief ; and as I had grown to put im- 
DliciJt reliance in the old. trapper’s wood-craft, I felt reassured. 
Rube’s opinions, both as to the steed having safely crossed and 
the discomfiture of the wolves, were shared by the rest of my 
followers — not one of whom was a mean authority on such a 
subject. Garey-^second only to his older comrade in the work- 
ing out of a prairie^syllogism — gave Rube’s statement his em- 
phatic confirmation. The steed was yet safe— perhaps, too, the 
rider. 

With lighter. heart I sprang back into the saddle. My fol- 
lowers, imitated the^example, and with eyes scanning the stream, 
we rode along the bank to seek for a# crossing. 

There was uo ford near the. spot. Perhaps where the steed 
had passed over the stream might have been, waded at low- 
water: but now, .during the freshet, the current would have 
swept off horse and man like so much cork-wood. The rocks — 
the black waves that rushed between them — the boiling, froth- 
ing eddies — discouraged any attempt at crossing there; we all 
gaw that it wasjmpracticable. 

Some rode up stream, others went in the opposite direc- 
tion. ~ 


338 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


Both parties met-again witlrblank looks; neither had found 
a-crossing. 

There was no time ta search further — at least my impatience 
would no --longer-' brook delay. It was not the first time for 
both my horse and myself to cross a river without ford; nor 
was it the first time for many of my followers. 

Below the rapids, the current ran slow, apparently ceasing. 
The water was still, though wider from bank to bank — a hun- 
dred yards or more. By the aid of the moonlight, I could tell 
that 'the bank on the opposite side was low and shelving. It 
could be easily climbed by a horse. 

I stayed to reason no further. Many a hundred yards had 
Moro swum with his rider on his back — many a current had 
he cleft with his proud breast many times more rapid than 
that. 

I . headed him to the bank, gave him the spur, and went 
plunging into the flood. 

Plunge — plunge-r-plunge! I heard behind my. back till the 
last of my followers had launched themselves on the wave, and 
were swimming silently over. 

One after another we reached the opposite side, and ascended 
the bank. 

Hurriedly I counted our number as the men rode out; one 
had not yet arrived! Who was missing ? 

“ Rube,” answered some one. 

I glanced back, but without feeling any uneasiness. I had 
to fear for the . trapper ; Garey alleged he was “safe to~ turn- 
up.” Something had detained him. Could his old mare 
swim ? 

“Like a mink,” replied Garey; “but Rube won’t- ride her 
across; he’s affeerd to sink her too deep in the water. See 1 ! 
yonder he comes!” 

Near the middle of the stream, two faces were observed rip- 
pling the wave, one directly in the wake ofi. the other. The 


ACROSS THE TORRENT. 


339 


foremost was the grizzled- front of the old mustang, the other 
the unmistakable- physiognomy of her master. The moonlight 
shining upon both- rendered them conspicuous above the dark 
Lrown water; and the spectacle drew a laugh from those who 
bad-reached the bank. 

Rube's- mode of crossing was- unique, like every action of this 
singular man. Perhaps he adopted it from sheer eccentricity, 
or maybe in order that his mustang might swim more freely. 

He had ridden gently into the water, and kept his saddle till 
the mare was beyond her depth — then sliding backward over 
her hips, he. took the tail in his-teeth, and partly towed like a 
fish upon the hook, and partly striking to assist in the passage, 
he swam after. As soon as the mare again touched bottom, he 
drew himself up over the croup, and in this way regained his 
saddle. 

Mare and-, man, as they climbed out on the bank — the thin 
skeleton, bodies of both reduced to their slenderest dimensions 
by the soaking water — presented a spectacle so ludicrous as to 
elicit a fresh chorus of laughter from his. comrades. 

I stayed, not till its echoes had died away; but- pressing my 
steed along the bank, soon arrived at the . rapids, where I ex- 
pected to recover the trail. To my joy, hoof-marks were there, 
directly opposite the point where the steed had taken to the 
stream. He must ha ve~waded then. 

Thank Heaven 1 at least from that peril has.- she-beem«aved! 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


340 


CHAPTER LX1V. 

A LILLIPUTIAN FOREST. 

On resuming the trail, I moved with lighter spirit I bad 
three sources of gratulation. The peril of the flood was past 
— she was not drowned. The wolves were thrown off — the 
dangerous rapid had deterred them ; on the other side their 
footprints were no longer found. Thirdly, the -steed had slack- 
ened his pace. After .climbing the bank, he had set off in a 
rapid, gait, but not at a gallop. 

“He’s been-pacin’ hyar 1” remarked Garey as soon as M 3 
eyes rested upon the tracks. 

“ Pacing 

I knew what was meant by this ; I knew that gait peculiar 
to the -prairie-horse, fast but smooth as the. amble of a palfrey. 
His rider would scarcely perceive the gentle movement; her 
torture would be less. 

Perhaps, too, noJonger. frighted by the fierce- pursuers, the 
horse would come to a jstop. His. wearied limbs would ad- 
monish him, and then . Surely he -could not have gone 

much further ? 

We, too, were wearied one and all ; but these pleasing-con- 
jectures beguiled us from thinking of our toil, and we advanced 
more cheerfully along the trail. 

Alas 1 it was my fate to be the victim of alternate .hopes and 
fears. My new-sprung joy was short-lived, and fast fleeted away. 

We had^ gone but a few hundred paces from the river, when 
we encountered an obstacle, that proved not only a serious 
barrier to our progress, but almost brought our tracking to a 
termination. 


i LILLIPUTIAN FOREST. 


841 


This obstacle was a forest of oaks, not giant oaks, as these 
famed trees are usually.. designated, but the very* reverse — a 
forest of dwarf oaks ( Quercus nano). Far, as the eye couj^jf 
reach extended this* singular wood, in which no tree rose above 
thirty tinches in height! Yet was it no thicket — no under- 
growth of shrubs — but a true* forest of oaks, each tree having 
its separate stem, its boughs, its lobed leaves, and its bunches 
of brown acorns. 

“Shin oak,” cried the trappers, as we entered the verge of 
this miniature forest. 

“ Wagh 1” exclaimed Rube, in a tone of impatience, “hyur’s 
bother. ’Ee may all get out o’ yur saddles and rest yur crit- 
ters : we’ll hev ta crawl hyur.” 

And so it resulted. For long weary hours we followed the 
trail, going not faster than we could have, crawled upon our 
hands and. knees. The tracks of thejsteed were plain enough, 
and in.daylight could have been, easily followed : but the little 
oaks grew, close and regular as if planted by the haud of man ; 
and through their -thick foliage the .moonlight, scarcely pene- 
trated. Their boughs almost. touched each other, so that the 
whole-surfacejay in dark shadow,, rendering it almost impossible 
■ttJ-make out the hoof-prints. Here and there, a broken branch 
or a bunch of tossed leaves — their under sides -shining-glaucous 
in the moonlight— ^enabled us to advance at a quicker rate ; 
but as the. horse had passed, gently over the ground, these 
“signs” were. few and far between. 

For long -fretful hours, we .toiled through the “shin-oak” 
forest, our^ heads far . overtopping its. tallest trees ! We might 
have - fancied that we were, threading our way through some 
extended nursery. The traiL led -directly across its-central part; 
and- ere we had. reached its furthest, verge, the moon’s rays were 
mingling with the purple light of morning. 

Soon after the ‘iorest opened the little dwarfs grew further 
apart — here scattered thinly over the ground, there disposed in 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


34:2 

fclnmps* or- miniature groves — until at length the sward of the 
prairie predominated. 

The trouble of the trackers was at an * end. The welcome 
light of the sun was thrown upon the trail, so that they could 
lift it as. fast as we could ride; and, no longer. hindered by brake 
or bush, we.advanced at a. rapid rate across the prairie. 

Over this ground the steed had also-passed .rapidly. He had 
continued to pace for some ~ distance, after emerging from the 
shin-oak forest ; but all at once, as we could tell by his tracks, 
he had bounded off again, and resumed his headlong gallop. 

What had started him afresh ? We were at a loss to imagine; 
even the prairie-men were puzzled. 

Had. wolves again- attacked him, or some other enemy ? No ; 
nor one nor other. It was a,green. prairie over which he had 
gone, a smooth sward of mezquite grass ; but there were spots 
where the growth was thin — patches nearly bare — and these 
were softened by the rain. Even the light paw of a wolf would 
have impressed itself in such places, sufficiently to be^ detected 
by the lynx-eyed men of the plains. The horse bad passed since 
the rain had -ceased falling. No wolf, or other animal, had been 
after him. 

Perhaps he had. taken ar-start of himself, freshly, affrighted cg£. 
the novel mode in which he was ridden — still under- excitement 
from the .rough usage he had -received, and from which he had 
not yet cooled down ; perhaps the barbed points of the cohetes 
rankled in his flesh, acting like spurs ; perhaps some distant 
sound had led him to fancy the hooting mob, or the howling 
wolves, still coming at his heels ; perhaps 

x\n -exclamation. from the trackers, who were riding in the ad- 
vance, put an end to these - conjectures. Both had-pulled up, 
and were. pointing to the ground. No words were spoken — 
nona needed. We all read with our eyes an explanation of the 
renewed gallop. 

Directly in front of us, the sward was cut and scored by nume- 


A LILLIPUTIAN FOREST. 


343 


^jous- tracks. N ot four, but four hundred boof-prints were indent)- 
ed in the turf--all of them fresh as the trail we were . following 
— and amidst ..these the tracks of the steed, becoming, inter- 
mingled, werejost to our view. 

“ A drove otwild horses,” pronounced the guides at a glance. 
Ihey were the .tracks of -unshod, hoofs, though that would-scarcely 
/have ^proved them wild. An .Indian troop might have ridden 
-past without .leaving any other sign ; bukthese horses had not 
been mounted, as the trappers confidently alleged ; and among 
them were the hoof-marks of foals and half-grown colts, which 
proved the- drove to be a <aballada of mustangs. 

At the point where we first struck their., tracks they had been 
going in full .speed, and the Irail of the steed.-converged until it 
closed with -theirs at an, acute angle. 

“ Ye-es,” drawled Rube, “ I see -how- tis. They’ve been-skeeart 
at the awkurd -look o’ the boss, an hev put off. See ! thur’s 
his- tracks on the. top o’ all o’ theirn : he’s been running arter 
'em. Thur !” continued the tracker, as we advanced — “ thur 
he hezaovertuk some o’ ’em. See 
scattered, righ^t and left I Hyur agin, 
some anmt^ arid some -afore him. Wagh ! I guess they, know 
him_now, an. ain’t any more -afeerd o’ him. See thur 1 he’s in 
the_ thick o’ the drove.” 

Involuntarily I raised my eyes, _ fancying ^frorn these., words 
that the horses were in .sight •; but no ; the speaker was riding 
forward, leaning over in his saddle, with look . fixed upon the 
ground. All that he. had. spoken he had been., reading from the 
surface of the prairie^-from .hieroglyphics to me.unintelligible ; 
but to him more easily .interpreted than the v page of a printed 
book. 

I knew that what he was. saying was, true. The., steed had 
galloped afte^V drove of wild horses ; he had .overtaken them ; 
and at the- point wher«Sve now were, had been passing along in 
their ..midst t 


e k thur ! the vaymints hev 
jin, they’ve galliped tfoegither, 


344 


THE WAR-TRAIL 


Dark .thoughts came, crowding into myjnind at this discovery 
— another shadow across my heart. I -perceived at once a new 
situation of_ peril for my -betrothed— new, and strange, and 
awful. 

I saw her in the midst of a troop of neighing, wild horses — 
stallions with, fiery eyes and ..red steaming nostrils ; these per 
haps ..angry at the white steed, and jealous of his approach to 
the - manada ; in mad rage rushing upon him with, open mouth 
and_yellow glistening teeth • rearing around and. above him, and 

striking down with deadly.desperate hoof Oh, it was a horrid 

apprehension, a fearful fancy ! 

Yet y fearful as it was, it proved to be the exact shadow of a 
reality. As the mirage refracts distant objects upon the retina 
of the eye, so someapiritual mirage must have- thrown upon my 
mind the image of -things that were real. Not distant, though 
then jmseen-^not distant was the- real. Rapidly I ascended 
another swell of the prairie, and from its-crest beheld almost the 
counterpart of the terrible scene that my imagination had con- 
jured up ! 

Was it a-dream ? was it still- fancy that was. cheating my 
eyes ? No ; there was the wild-horse drove ; there the rearing, 
screamingLstallions ; there the white steed in their midst — he too 
rearing, erect — there upon his “back 

“O God, look down in mercy-^save her l^save her 1” 


CHAPTER LXY. 

SCATTERING THE WILD STALLIONS.' 

Such rude appeal was wrung from my lips by the dread -spec- 
tacle on which my eyes rested. 

I scarcely waited the echo of my words; I waited not the 


SCATTERING TIIE WILD STALLIONS. 


345 


counsel of my comrades, but, plunging deeply the spur, galloped 
down the hill in the direction of the drpve. 

There was no method observed, no attempt to keep under 
cover. There was not^time either for caution or concealment. 
I acted under instantaneous impulse, and with but one-thought — 
to charge-forward, scatter the, stallions, and, if yet in time, save 
her from those hurling heels and fierce glittering teeth. 

If yd indime — ay, such provisory parenthesis was in my mind 
at the moment. But I drew^hope from observing that the steed 
kept a ring cleared around him : his assailants only threatened 
at a distance. , 

Had he -been.-alone, I might have acted with more -caution, 
and perhaps have. thought of some stratagem to, capture him. 
As it was, .stratagem was out of the question; the circumstances 
required speed. 

Both trappers and rangers, acting under like impulse with 
myself, had spurred their horses into a gallop, and followed close 
at my heels. 

The drove was yet distant. The wind blew from them — a 
brisk breeze. We were half way down the hill, and still the 
wild horses neither .heard, saw, nor.scented us. 

1 shouted at the top of my voice : T wished to startle and put 
them to-flight. My -followers shouted in. chorus ; but our voices 
reached not the quarrelling ,caballada. 

A better expedient suggested itself : I drew my pistol from its 
holster, and fired several shots in the air. 

The first would have been sufficient. Its-report was heard, 
despite the. opposing wind ; and the mustangs,, affrighted by the 
sound, suddenly forsook the .encounter. Some bjjmde<Laway at 
once-*, others came, wheeling, around us, snorting fiercely, and 
tossing their,, heads in the air ; a few. galloped almost within 
range of our rifles, and then uttering their shrill -neighing, turned 
and° broke off in rapid.. flight. The. steed and his rider alone 
remained, where we had first- observed them 1 

15 * 


346 


TUE WAR-TRAIL. 


For some moments he kept the ground, as if bewildered by 
the sudden_scattering of his assailants ; but he too must have 
heard the shots, and. perhaps alone divined .something of -what 
had caused those singular noises; In the loud concussion, he 
recognized thejvoice of his greatest,„enemy ; and yet he stirred 
not from the spot ! 

Was he -going to . await our approach ? Had he. become 
tamed f-^reconciled to captivity ? or was it that we had rescued 
him from his angry, rivals — that he was grateful, and no longer 
feared us ? 

Such odd -ideas rushed rapidly through my mind as Idurried 
-forward. I had begun to^deem it ^probable that he would stay 
our approach, andsuffer us quietly to recapture him. Alas ! I 
was soon-undeceived. I was still a long way off — many-hundred 
yards — when I. saw him rear upward r wheel round upon his hind 
feet as on & pivot, and them, bound off in determined- Sight. 
His shrill -scream, ..pealing back upon the- breeze, fell upon my 
ears like the daunt of somecfcadlyffoe. It-seemed thejitterance 
of mockery and revenge : mockery at the impotence of my pur- 
suit ^.revenge that I had once made him my-captive. 

I-obeyed the only, impulse I could -have at such a moment, and 
galloped-after, as fast as my horse could go. I stayed for no 
consultation with my companions ; I had already forged far 
ahead of them. They were too -distant for speech. 

I-needed not their- wisdom to guide me. No- plan required 
conception or. deliberation ; the course was clear : by speed only 

could the dorse be taken, and his rider-saved from destruction 

if yet safe. 

Oh, the fearfulness of the last reflection ! the agony of the doubt ! 

It was not the hour to indulge in idle anguish ; I repressed 
the emotion, and bent myself earnestly upon the pursuit. I 
spoke to my brave steed, addressing him by name ; I urged him 
with hands and kuees ; only at intervals did I inflict the cruel 
iteel upon his ribs. 


SCATTERING THE WILD STALLIONS. 


34-7 


I soon .perceived that he was- flagging ; Lperceived it with 
increased- apprehension for the result. He had, worn his saddle 
too long on the day before, and the. wet weary-night had jaded 
him. He had been -over-wrought, and 4 felt his. weariness, as he 
galloped with feebler 'Stroke. The prairie-steed must have been 
fresh in-comparison. 

But- life and death were upon the issue. - Her life — perhaps 
my-own. L cared not to survive her. She must be saved. The 
spur must be plied without remorse : the steed must be over* 
taken, even if Moro should die ! 

It was a rolling. prairie over which the .chase led — a surface 
that -undulated -like the billows of the ocean. We galloped 
transversely to the-direction of the “ swells,” that rose one after 
thr Mother in rapid succession. Perhaps the-rapidity with which 
we Were crossing them brought them nearer to each other. To 
me-^here appeared no. level ground between these land-billows. 
Up-hill and down hill in quick alternation was the manner of 
our progress — a severe -trial upon the girths — a hard killing 
gallop for my .poor horse. But life and death were upon the 
issue, and the-spur must be plied without remorse. 


A long, cruel .gallop — would it never come to an end ? would 
the steed never-tire ? would he -never stop ? Surely in. time he 
must become weary ? Surely .Moro was his-equal in strength as 
in -speed ?-Asuperior to him in both ? 

Ah ! the prairie Jiorse.possessed a double advantage — he had 
started -fresh— he- was on his .native ground. 

I kept my ...eyes fixed upon him ; not for one moment did I 
withdraw my glance. A mysterious apprehension was upon me; 
I feared to-4ook around, lest he should disappear. The sou- 
venirs of the former chase still-haunted me; weird remembrances 
clung to my spirit. I was once. more in the region of the super- 


natural. 

I looked. .neither to the right nor left, but straight before me— 
Straight at the ..object of my pursuit, and the distance that lay 


348 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


between us- This last I continuously- scanned, now with fresh 
hope, and now. again with doubt. It seemed to-vary with the 
ground. At one time, I was nearer, as the- descending slope 
gave me the ..advantage ; but the moment after, the steep- decli- 
vity retarded the speed of my horse, and increased the interven- 
ing distance. 

It was with joy I crossed the last swell of the rolling prairie, 
and-beheld a level plain stretching before us. It was with joy 
I perceived that upon the new ground I was rapidly gaining 
upon the steed 1 

And rapidly I continued to gain upon him, until scarcely three 
hundred yards were between us. So near was I, that I could 
trace the outlines of her form — her prostrate limbs — still- lashed 
to the croup — her garments loose and .torn — her ankles — her 
long dark hair, dishevelled and trailing to the ground — even her 
pallid .cheek I could perceive, as at intervals the . steed tossed 
back his head to utter his wild taunting neigh. 

I was near enough to be . heard. I shouted in my loudest 
voice; I called her by name. I kept my eyes upon her, and 
w r ith throbbing anxiety listened for a response. I fancied that 
her head was .raised, as^- though she -understood and would-have 
answered me. I could-hear .no voice, but her feeble cry migty 
have beerudrowned by the -clatter of the-hoofs. 

Again I called aloud — again and again pronouncing her 
name. 

Surely I-heard a cry ; surely her head was raised from the 
withers of the horse. I could not be mistaken. 

“ Thank Heaven, she lives !” 

I had scarcely uttered the .prayer, when I felt my steed yield 
beneath me as though he was sinking into the bosom of the 
earth. I was hurled out of the saddle, and flung head foremost 
upon the plain. My horse had broke through the burrow of 
the prairie marmot, and the fqlse step had brought him w : t£ 
violence to the ground. 


LOST IN A CHAPARRAL. 


349 


I was neither stunned nor. entangled by the fall , and in a 
few seconds had regained my .feet, my bridle and saddle. But 
as I headed my horse once more toward the chase, the white 
steed and his rider had passed out ofosight. 


CHAPTER LXVI. 

LOST IN A CHAPARRAL, 

I was -chagrined* frantic, and despairing, bull not. surprised. 
This time there was -mo mystery about the_ disappearance of the 
steed ; the ..chaparral ^explained it. Though I no -longer saw 
him, he was-yet within .bearing. HisJbotfall on the firm ground, 
the occasional-snapping of a dead stick, the whisk of the recoil- 
ing branches, all reached my ears as I was remounting. 

These sounds_guided-.me, and without- staying to follow his 
tracks, I dashecLforward to the edge of the- chaparral — at the 
point nearest to -where I-heard him. moving. I did not pause to 
look for an -opening, but-heading in the direction from whence 
came the sounds, I spurred forward into the thicket. Breasting 
the bushes that. reached around his neck, or bounding over them, 
my brave horse pressed on ; but he had not gone three lengths 
of himself before I recognized the -imprudence of the. course I 
was pursuing ; I now. saw I should followed the tracks. 

I no longer heard the movements of the jsteed — neither foot- 
stroke, nor snapping. sticks, nor breaking, branches. The noise 
made by my own horse, amid the crackling acacias,- drowned 
every-other sound ; and so long as I kept in motion, I moved 
with uncertainty. It was,.only when I made, stop that I could 
again-hear the. mhase struggling through the thicket ; but now 
the sounds were faint and far distant — growing still fainter as I 
listened. 


350 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


Once more I. urged forward my., horse, sheading him almost 
atjandom ; but I had not_ advanced a ^hundred paces, before 
the misery of uncertainty again impelled me .to halt. 

This time 1 listened and. heard nothing — not even the recoil 
©f a bough. The. steed had either, stopped and was. standing 
silent, or what was more probable, had gained so.far in advance 
of me that his hoofstroke was. out of hearing. 

Half frantic, angered at myself, too much .excited for cool 
reflection, I lanced the sides of my horse, and galloped madly 
through the thicket. 

I rode several hundred yards before ..drawing bridle, in a sort 
of desperate hope I might once more, bring myself within ear- 
shot of the -chaise. 

Again I. halted tojisten. My ..recklessness, proved of no avail. 
Not a sound . reached my^ear^ even, had there, been -sounds, 1 
should .scarcely have. Jieard them above that issuing from the 
nostrils of my panting horse; but sound there was -none. Silent 
was the chaparral arouud me-^silent as death — not even .a bird 
moved among its branches. 

I felt something like _ self-execration ; my imprudence I de- 
nounced over and over. But for my rash haste, I might yet 
have been upon the trail — perhaps within sight of the object of 
pursuit. Where the _gteed had gone surely I could have fol- 
lowed. Now he was . gone I knew not whither-^lost — his trail 
lost — all lost 1 

To recover the trace of him, I made several. casts across the 
thicket. I rode, first in one direction, then in another, but all 
to no purpose. I could find neither hoof-track nor broken branch. 

I next .bethought me of returning to the open. prairie, there 
retaking the trail, and following it thence. This was. clearly 

the -wisest, in. fact the A)nly.course in which there was- reason 

JBl 

I should easily recover the trail, at the . point where tire horse 
had entered the chaparral, and thence I might follow it without 
difficulty 


L ST IN A CHAPARRAL. 


351 


Ltnrned my horse- round, and- headed him in the direction of 
the prairie — or rather in what L supposed to be the direction- 
for thisLtoo had become„conjecture. 

It was -not till I had ridden for a half-hour, for more thac 
a .mile through glade and bush — not till I had ridden nearly 
twice ,as far in the .opposite direction — and then to right, and 
then to.~left — that I ^pulled up my broken Jiorse f dropped the 
rein upon his. withers, and sat. bent in my., saddle under the 
full conviction that I too was lost ! 

Lost in the chaparral — that parched and hideous jungle, 
where every plant that carries a thorn seemed to, have place. 
Around grew acacias , mimosas , gleditschias , robinias , algarobias 
— all the -thorny Jegumes of the world ; above towered the 
splendid* fouquiera with spinous stem ; there, flourished the 
“tornillo” (prosopis glandulosa ), with its twisted beans ; there 
the “junco” ( koeblerinia ), whose veryjeaves are thorns. There 
I saw spear-pointed yuccas and clawed broraelias ( agave and 
dasylirion) ; there, too, 'the universal cactaceae ( opuntia , mam - 
milaria, cereus, and echinocactus ) ; even the very,. grass was 
thorny^for it was a. species of the “ mezquite grass,” whose 
knotted culms are armed with sharp.spurs ! 

Through thisjiorrid thicket I had not passed unscathed ; my 
garments were already torn, my limbs were bleeding ! 

My limbs^rand'-hers ? 

Others alone was..I thinking ; those fair proportioned mem- 
bers — those- softly rounded arms — that smooth, delicate skin — 
bosom and shoulders .bare — the thorn — the scratch — the tear. 
Oh! it was^agony to think ! 

By . action alone might I hope to- still my emotions ; and once 
more .rousing, myself from the lethargy of painful, thought, I 
■urged my steed onward through the bushes. 


352 


THE WAR-TRAIL 


CHAPTER LX VI I. 


ENCOUNTER WITH JAVALI. 


I had no mark to guide me, either on the earth or in the 
heavens. I had an .indefinite, idea that the chase had led west- 
ward, and therefore to get back to the prairie, I ought to bead 
towards the .cast. But -how was I to distinguish east from 
west? In the chaparral .both were. alike, and so.too upon the 
sky. «No sun was visible ; the .canopy of heaven was of a uni- 
form leaden color ; upon its face were no signs by which the 
cardinal points could have been, discovered. 

Had I been in a forest of trees, surrounded by' a northern 
sylva, I could have made out my course. The oak or the elm, 
the ~ash-tree or maple, the beech or sycamore-s-any of them 
would have been compass sufficient for me ; but in, that thicket 
of thorny shrubs I was completely aLfault. It- was a.-subtropi- 
cal flora, or -rather a vegetation of the arid desert, to which 
I was. almost a stranger. I knew there were men. skilled in the 
craft of the chaparral, who, in the midst of it, could telL ^orth 
from south without-compass or star. Not- 1. 

I could .think of no-bettenmode than to trust to the guidance 
of my horse. More than, once, when lost in the thick forest or 
in the boundless plain, had I reposed a similar trust in his 


instincts — more than once had he borne me out qT my bewilder- 
ment. 

But.whither could he take me ? Back to the path by which 
we had come ! Probably, enough, had that path led to a 
home; but it did-not ; my poor_steed, like myself, had-noAiOme. 
He, too, was a ranger ; for years had been flitting from place 


ENCOUNTER WITH JAYALI. 


353 


to place, hundreds, aye, thousands of miles from each other. 
Long had he forgotten his. native stall. 

I surmised_.that if there was„ water near, his. instinct might 
carry him to that — and much needed it both horse and rider 
Should we reach a running stream, it would serve as a guide 

I dropped the rein upon his neck, and left him to his will. 

I had already shouted in my loudest voice, in hopes of being 
heard by my comrades ; by., none other than , them, for what 
could human beiug do in such a ^pot, .shunned even by the 
brute creation ? The horned lizard (agama cornuta), the ground 
rattlesnake, the shell-covered armadillo, and the ever-present 
coyote, alone inhabit these dry jungles ; and now and then the 
javali (dicotyles torquatus) y Jvo,<\\ng ) upon the twisted legumes 
of the “ tornillo,” passes through their midst; but even these are 
rare ; and the traveller may ride for_scores of miles through the 
Mexican chaparral without encountering aught that lives and 
moves. There reigns the stillness of death. Unless the- wind 
be- rustling among the pinnate-fronds of the -acacias, or the 
unseenc.locustuHtters its harsh.jshrieking amid the parched., herb- 
age, the weary wayfarer may. ride on,, cheered by no other sound 
than his pwn voice, or the footfall of his horse. 

There was still the .chance that my followers might . hear me. 
I knew that they would, not stray from the trail. Though they 
must have been far behind when I entered the. chaparral, follow- 
ing the tracks they would in. time be sure to come up. 

It was a question whether they would follow mine, or that of 
the. steed. This had not occurred to me before, and I paused to 
consider it. If the former, then was I wrong in moving onward, 
as I should only be goin from them, and leading them in a 
longer search. Already had I given them a knot to unravel, my 
devious path forming a labyrinthine maze. 

It was unore thanprobable they jvould follow me — in the be- 
lief that I had some reason for deviating from the trail of the 
v steed, perhaps for the purpose of heading or intercepting him. 


THE WAR-TKAIL. 


854 

This, conjecture decided me against advancing further— at 
least until some time should elapse, enough to allow them to 
come up with me. 

Out of-compassion for my hard-breathing horse, I dismounted 
At intervals, I shouted aloud, and fired_shots from my pistols : 
after.each I listened ; but neither- shot nor .shout reached me ir> 
reply. They must bejlistant indeed, not to. hear the report of 
firearms; for, had they heard them, they would have been certain 
to make answer in a .similar manner. All of them-carried rifles' 
and pistols. 

I began to think it was time they should have^reached me. 
Again I fired several shots ; but, as before, -echo was the only 
reply. Perhaps they had not followed me l perhaps they had 
kept on upon theJrail of the„ steed, and it might* lead them, far 
away, beyond bearing of thencports ? perhaps, there was not yet 
time for them to have arrived ? 

While thus-conjecturing, my ears were assailed by the screech- 
ing of birds at some distance off. I ..recognized the harsh notes 
of the. jay, mingling with the chatter of the red cardinal. 

Prom the tones, I knew that these, birds were, excited by the 
presence of -some, animal. Perhaps they were. defending their 
nests against the-black snake or th e-crotalws. 

It might be myffollowers. approaching ? it might be the-*stecd 
— like -me, still wandering in the chaparral ? 

I -sprang to my -saddle to- get a better, view, and gazed over 
the tops of the trees. Guided by the voices of the birds,. I soon 
discovered theseene of the commotion. At some distance off, l 
saw both jays and cardinals fluttering among the branches, 
evidently excited by something on the ground beneath them. 
At the- same time I heard strange noises, far louder than the 
voices of the .birds, but could not -tell yyhat was causing them. 
My .spirits sank, for I knew they could not be produced, either 
by my comrades or the steed. 

It was not far, and I determined to .satisfy myself as to what 


ENCOUNTER WITH JAVALI. 


355 


was, causing such a-_commotion in this hitherto, silent place. I 
rode., towards the spot, as.dast as my. horse could make way 
through the bushes. I was soon -satisfied. 

Coming out on the edge of a little glade, I became .spectator 
to a strauge^Acene — a, battle between the red-cougar and a band 
o Ljavali. 

The fierce little*, boars were ringing ” the panther, who was 
fighting. desperately* in their midst. Several of them lay upon 
the ground, struck senseless or dead, by the strong. paws of the 
huge cat ; but the others, nothing daunted, had completely sur- 
rounded their enemy, and were bounding upon him with open 
mouths, wounding him with their. sharp. shining tusks. 

Tlieuscene aroused my hunter instincts, and suddenly unsling- 
ing rnypifle, I set my .eye to the sights. I had no hesitation 
about the .selection of myjnark — the~panther, by alb means — 
and drawing~trigger, I sent my-bullet through the creature’s 
skull, at once stretching him out in the midst of his assailants. 

Three seconds had noUelapsed, before I had reason to regret 
the jshoice I had~made of a-victim. J should have let the cougar 
alone, and either held my fire, or -directed it upon- one of his 
urchiu-like_.enemies ; for the moment he was^or-s- de-combat t his 
assailants-rbecame mine— ^transferring their. “ surround ” to* my 
horse andjrayself, with all the savage; fierceness they had just 
exhibited towards the panther I 

I had no. means of punishing the ungrateful, brutes. They 
had not^iven me time to reload my rifle before commencing the 
attack, and my. pistols were both empty. My* horse* startled 
by the unexpected assault, as well as by the strange creatures 
that were making it, „ snorted and plunged wildly over the 
ground ; but go. where ha would, a score of the ferocious brutes 
followed^, springing against his, sides, and scoring his shanks 
with their terrible, tusks. Well dor me I was able to keep the 
saddle ; had I been thrown from it atrthat moment, I shouldcer 
tainly have beem torn to pieces. 


356 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


I saw no hope of safety but in flight, and spurring my hdrse, 
I gave him full, rein. Alas J through that, tangled thicket the 
javali could go as fast as he ; and after ^galloping a hundred 
yards or so, I perceived the whole flock still around me, leaping 
as fiercely as ever around the limbs of my steed. 

The result might have proved, awkward enough ; but at that 
moment I heard voices, and saw mounted men breaking through 
the underwood. They were. Stanfield, ,Quackenboss, and the 
rest of the rangers. 

In another second they were on the ground ; and their 
revolvers, playing rapidly, soon thinned the ranks of the javali, 
and caused the. survivors to retreat grunting and screaming into 
the thicket. 


CHAPTER LXVIII. 

THE WOODS ON FIRE. 

The trappers were not among those who had rescued me — - 
?vhere were they ? The others made answer, though I already 
guessed what they had to tell. Rube and Garey had, followed 
the tracks of the steed, leaving the rangers to come after me. 

I was pleased with the ready intelligence of my comrades ; 
they had acted exactly as they should have done. I was 
myself found, and I no longer entertained any apprehension that 
the trail would be lost. 

By this time, the trappers must be far upon it ; more than an 
hour had elapsed since they and the others had parted company. 
My zigzag path had cost my followers many a bewildering 
pause. 

But they had not ridden recklessly as I, and could find their 
way back. As it was impossible to tell in what direction Rube 
and Garey had gone, this course was the best to be followed ; 


THE WOODS ON FIRE. 


357 


and -under the- guidance of Stanfield, an expert woodsman, we 
commenced. returning, to the. prairie. It was. not -necessary to 
follow back our own. crooked trail. The Kentuckian had noted 
the “ lay ” of the chaparral, and led us out of its labyrinths hy 
an almost direct path. 

On reaching the open .prairie, we made no halt ; but upon the 
tracks of . Rube, Garey, and the steed, once more entered the 
chaparral. 

We had no difficulty about our course ; it was plainly traced 
out for us ; the trappers had V blazed it. In most places, the 
tracks of the three horses were sufficient indices of the route ; 
but there were stretches where the ground was stony, and upon 
the parched arid herbage,., even the shod hoof left no visible 
mark. In such places, a branch of acacia broken and pendulous, 
the bent fiower-stem of an aloe or the succuleut leaves of the 
cactus slashed with a sharp knife, were conspicuous and unmis- 
takable signs ; and by the guidance of these we made rapid 
advance. 

We must have gone much faster than the trackers themselves 
— for notwithstanding the. freshness of the trail, there were dry 
spots and patches of cut,rock over which it passed, and where 
it must have cost both time and keen perception to trace it. 

As we. were travelling so much-more rapidly than Rube and 
Garey could have- done, I looked forward to our soon. overtaking 
them ; with eager anticipation, I looked forward. Surely they 
would have some news for me, now .that they had been so long 
in the advance Surely by this time they must have come 
in sight of the steed ?— perhaps captured him ? Oh, joyous anti- 
cipation ! 

Or would they.return with a different tale ? Was I to meet 
the report that he still hurried on— on for ever ? That he had 
swam some rapid stream ? or plunged over a precipice— into 
some dark -abyss ? ^ 

Though- hastening on after the trackers, there ivere moments 


358 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


whei/^I feared to overtake them — moments when I dreaded 

/w 

to hear their tale I 

We had worked our way about,five miles through the hideous 
jungle, when I began to feel a strange sensation in my eyes — a 
sensation of pain — what is usually termed a “ smarting.” I at 
first attributed it to the want of sleep. My companions com- 
plained that they were affected in a similar manner. 

It was not until we had gone some distance, farther, that we 
found the true explanation, by perceiving that there was smoke 
upon the air ! Smoke it was that was causing the bitterness in 
our eyes. 

The denizen of the prairie never regards such an indication 
with indifference. Where there is- smoke, there is fire, and 
where fire, ^danger — at least, upon the broad grassy steppes of 
the west. A burning forest may be shunned. You may stand 
near to the forest on fire, and contemplate such a scene with 
safety; but a blazing prairie is a phenomenon of a different 
character; and. it is, indeed, a rare position where you may 
view, without peril, this sublime spectacle. 

There are prairies that will not burn. The plains covered 
with the short J* buffalo grass” (sesleria dactyloides ) , and the 
sward of various species of “gramma” ( chondrosium) } rarely 
take fire, or if they do, horse, man, buffalo, or antelope, can 
easily escape by leaping across the blaze. ’Tis only the reptile 
world — snakes, lizards, the toad and the land turtle ( terrapin ) 
— that fall victims to such a flame. 

Not so upon the “ weed prairie,” or those where the tall reed- 
grass rises above the withers of a horse — its culms matted and 
laced, together by the trailing stems of various species of bind- 
weed, by creeping convolvulus, cucurbitaceae, and wild pea-vines.' 
In the dry season, when a fire lays its hold upon vegetation of 
this character, there is danger indeed — where it rages, there is 
death. 

It was smoke that affected our eyes, causing them to smart 


THE WOODS ON FIRE. 


369 


and water. Fire must be causing the smoke — what vns on 
fire? I could.detect apprehension in the looks of my followers, 
•s we rode on. It was but slight, for as yet the smoke was 
scarcely perceptible, aud the fire, wherever it was, must be dis- 
tant — so fancied we. 

As we advanced, the glances of the men became more uneasy. 
Beyond a doubt, the. smoke was thickening around us — the sky 
was fast becoming darker, and the pain in our eyes more acute. 

“ The woods are on fire,” said Stanfield 

Stanfield was a backwoodsman, his thoughts ran upon 11 woods.” 

Whether forest or prairie, a. conflagration was certainly rag- 
ing. It might befar off, for the wind will carry the smoke of a 
prairie fire a- long distance; but I had an unpleasant suspicion 
that it wa s^not distant. I noticed dropping around us the white 
floe of- burnt leaves, and from the intense* bitterness of the 
smoke, I reasoued that it could not have floated far — its gases 
were not-yet dissipated 

It was not tha distance of the fire that so much troubled me, 
as its direction. The wind blew right in our teeth, and the 
smoke was travelling with the wind. The conflagration must 
be ahead-^directly upon the trail! 

The smoke grew thicker anddhicker— rahead, the sky appeared 
slashed with a. lurid - light; I fancied I could hear the crack- 
ling of the flames. The air felt hot and dry: a choking sensa- 
tion came into our throats, and one and all were soon hacking 
and gasping for breath. 

So dark had it suddenly become, or rather so blinded were we 
with the smoke, we could scarcely make out the trail. 

My followers would have stopped, but I urged them on. 
With voice and example I urged them on — myself leading the 
way. My heart was too sore to make pause. 

Where in all this were Rube and Garey? We had come far 
and fast; we should now be nearly up with them — they could 
not be much ahead. 


360 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


I hallooed as we advanced. 

Liullow!” came the . response, in the rough baritone of thfi 
younger trapper. 

We hurried forward in the direction of the voice. The path 
conducted to an opening in the chaparral, in the centre of which 
through the smoke, we could distinguish the forms of men and 
horses. 

With eager eyes, I scanned the group; a glance was suffi 
cient; there were only two of each-^only the trackers. 


CHAPTER L X I X . 

SMOKE AND THIRST. 

“Ah, Monsieur Roob l” cried the Canadian, as we hurried 
up, “ vat make ce de la diable d’une fumee — smoke ? Are ze 
woods on fire — you tink — eh ?” 

“Wuds!” exclaimed Rube, with a contemptuous glance at 
the speaker. “ Wagh 1 Thur’s no wuds hyur. Thur’s a 
paraira. afire. Don’t ee smell the stink o’ the grass ?” 

“ Pe gat, oui I vraiment— c’est la prairie? You sure, Mon- 
sieur Roob ?” 

“ Sure 1” vociferated the trapper, in a tone of indignation — 
“ Sure 1 — ye durned parley-voo-eat-a-frog, spit-a-brick, soup- 
suckin’ Frenchman, d’ yur think I don’t know the smell o’ a 
burnin’ paraira ? Wagh!” 

“ Ah, Monsieur Roob, me. pardon. Yat I mean ask — is ze 
chaparral brul£ — on fire — ces arbres ?” 

“ The chaparral ain’t afire,” answered Rube, somewhat molli- 
fied by the apology ; “ so don’t be skeeart, Frenchy ; yur safe 
enuf.” 

This assurance seemed to gratify not only the timid- Canadian. 


SMOKE AND THIRST. 


361 


but others, who, up to this moment, were apprehensive that it 
was the -thicket that was on fire. 

For myself, I had no such fears ; I perceived that the cha- 
parral could not burn. Here and there.-patches of dry mezquite 
trees would have caught like -tinder; but in most places, a 
succulent endogenous vegetation formed three parts of the 
jungle, and rendered it “fire-proof.” This was especially the 
case around the glade where the trappers had taken their stand, 
and which was completely inclosed by a wall of the great organ 
cactus, with aloes, opuntias, and other juicy-leaved plants. In 
the -opening, we were as safe from the fire as though it was 
a hundred miles off ; we suffered only from the smoke, that 
now quite filled the atmosphere, causing a darkness that rivalled 
night. 

I had no apprehension for our safety ; it was not of that $ 
was thinking. 

To the hasty dialogue between Rube and the Canadian I had 
scarcely given heed ; Garey had ..advanced to meet me, and I 
listened with anxious ear to the tale of the tracker. 

It was soon told. Rube and he had followed the. trail, until 
it emerged from the chaparral, and struck out into a wide grass- 
prairie. The. edge of the .thicket was* close by; but they had 
gone a considerable distance beyond it and across the plain. 
They were still -advancing, when, to their, consternation, they 
perceived that the prairie was on fire directly ahead of them ! 
The wind was rolling both smoke and flames before it with the 
rapidity of a running horse, and it was with difficulty they 
escaped from it by galloping back to the chaparral. 

And the ste?xl — what had become of him ? Had they seen 
nothing ? 

I did not. put these questions in words — only in thought did I 
a3k them : and in thought only were they answered. Both the 
trackers were silent, and that was an answer in the negative ; 
yes, I read an ominous negative in their looks of gloom. 

16 


362 


THE WAK-TRAir. 


We were compelled to-halt ; even the smoke rendered further 
progress impossible ; but we could hear the fire at no great 
distance — the culms of the coarse reed-grass cracking like vol- 
leys of musketry. 

Now and then, a scared- deer broke through the bushes, pass- 
ing us at full speed. A band of antelopes dashed into the glade, 
and halted. close beside us — the frightened creatures not knowing 
where to run. At their heels came a pack of prairie-wolves, but 
not in pursuit of them : these alsa stopped near. A black bear 
and a cougar arrived next ; and fierce beasts of prey and gentle 
ruminants stood side by side, both, terrified out of their natural 
habits. Birdsjshrieked among the branches,, eagles screamed in 
the air, and black .vultures could be seen hovering through the 
smoke, with no thought of stooping upon a-quarry ! 

The Jmnter man alone preserved his instincts. My followers 
were, hungry. Rifles were levelled — and the bear and one of 
the antelopes fell victims to the deadly aim. 

Both were soon stripped of their skins, and butchered. A 
fire was kindled in the glade, and upon .sword-blades and sap- 
ling spits the choice morsels of venison and “ bear-meat 77 
were roasted, and eaten, with many a jest about the “ smoky 
kitchen. 7 ’ 

I was myself hungered. I shared the. repast, but not the 
merriment. At, that moment, no- wit could have won from me 
a. smile ; the most luxurious table could not have furnished me 
with cheer. 

A worse appetite than hunger assailed my companions, and I 
felt it with the rest — it was thirst ; for hours all had been suf- 
fering from it ; the long hard ride had brought it on, and now 
the smoke and the dry hot atmosphere increased the appetite 
till it had grown agonizing, almost unendurable. No water had 
been passed since the stream we had crossed before day ; there 
was none in the chaparral ; the trackers saw none so far as 
they had gone : we were iu a waterless desert ; and the very 


SMOKE AND THIRST. 


thought itself renders the pang-thirst keener and harder to 
endure. 

Some .chewed their leaden bullets, or pebbles of chalcedony 
which they had picked up ; others had gained relief by drinking 
the blood of the slaughtered animals— rthe bear and the ante- 
lope — but we found a better source of assuagement in the succu- 
lent stems of the. cactus and agave. 

The relief was but .. temporary : the juice cooled our lips and 
tongues, but . there is an acrid ..principle in these plants that 
soon acted, and our thirst became more intense than ever. 

Some talked of returning on the trail in search of water — 
of going, back even to the ..stream — more than twenty miles 
distant. 

TTnder such circumstances, even., military command* loses its 
authority. Nature is. stronger than, martial law. 

I cared. not if they, did return ; I cared not who left me, so 
long as the trappers remained true. I had no. fear that they 
would Jorsake me, and my ^disapprobation of it checked the 
cheerless proposal, and once more all -declared their wilhng- 
ness to^o on. 

Fortunately, at that ..crisis the smoke began to clear away, 
and the atmosphere to lighten up. The fire had -burnt on to 
the edge of the chaparral, where it was now opposed by the 
sap-bearing trees. The grass had been all consumed— the coa 
flagration was at an end. 

Mounting our horses, we rode out from the glade j and lol.. 
lowing the trail a few hundred yards farther, we emerged fmfl 
the thicket and stood upon the edge of the desolated plain 


864 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


CHAPTER LXX. 

A BURNT PRAIRIE. 

Thf, earth offers no aspect more drear and deflate than that 
of a burnt prairie. The ocean when its waves are grey — a 
blighted - heath — a flat, fenny country in a rapid thaw, — all 
these impress the beholder with a feeling of chill monotony ; 
but the water has motion, the heath color, and the half-thawed 
flat exhibits variety in its mottling of white and ground. 

Not so the steppe that has been fired and burned. In this 
the eye perceives neither color, nor form, nor motion. It 
roams -over the limitless level in search of one or other, but in 
vain ; and in the absence of all three, it tires, and the heart 
grows cheerless and sick. Even the sky scarcely offers relief. 
It, too, by refraction from the black surface beneath, wears a 
dull, livid aspect ; or perhaps the eye, jaundiced by the reflec- 
tion of the earth, beholds not the brightness of the heavens. 

A prairie, when green, does not always glad the eye — not 
even when enamelled with fairest flowers. I have crossed such 
plains, verdant or blooming to the utmost verge of vision, and 
longed for something to appear in sight — a rock, a tree, a living 
creature — anything to . relieve the universal sameness ; just as 
the voyager on the ample ocean longs for ships, for cetacea, or 
the sight of laud, and is delighted with a nautilus, polypi, phos- 
phorescence, or a floating weed. 

Color alone does not satisfy the sense. What hue more 
charming than the fresh verdure of the grassy plain ? what more 
exquisite than the deep blue of the ocean ? and yet the 'eye 
grows -weary, of- both ! Even the “-flower-prairie,” with its 
thousands of gay corollas of every tint and shade — with its 


A BURNT PRAIRIE. 


365 


golden helianthus, its white argemone, its purple cleome, its 
pink malvaceae, its blue lupin, its. poppy worts of red and orange 
— even these fair tints grow. tiresome to the sight, and the. eye 
yearns for form and motion. 

If so, what must be the prairie when divested of all its 
verdant and flowery charms — when burned to black ashes ? It 
is difficult to conceive the aspect of dreary monotony it then 
presents — more difficult to describe it. Words will not paint 
such a scene. 

And such presented itself to our eyes as we rode out from the 
chaparral. The fire was. past — even the smoke had ceased to 
rise, except in spots where the damp earth still reeked under the 
heat ; but right and left, and far ahead, on to the very hem of 
the horizon, the^surface was of one uniform hue, as if covered 
with a vast crape. There wa^ naught of form to be seen, living 
or lifeless ; there was no life or motion even in the elements ; 
all sounds had ceased: an awful- stillness reigned above and 
around — the world seemed dead and shrouded in its sable pall ! 

Under -other circumstances, I might have- stayed to regard 
such a scene, though not to admire it. On that interminable 
waste, there was naught to be admired, not even sublimity ; but 
no ^spectacle however sublime, however . beautiful, could have 
won from me a thought at that moment.. 

The. trackers had already ridden far out, and were advancing, 
half concealed by the cloud of black “stoor v flung up from the 
heels of their horses. For some distance they moved straight 
on without looking for the tracks of the steed. Before meeting 
the fire, they had gone beyond the edge of the chaparral ; after 
a while, I observed them moving more -slowly, with their eyes 
upon the ground as if looking for the trail. I had doubts of 
their being able either to find or follow it now. The shallow 
hoof-priuts would be filled with the debris of the burnt herbage 
— surely they could no longer be traced ? 

By myself, they could not, nor .by a common man ; but it 


566 


THE WAE-TEAIL. 


seemed that to the^eyes of those keen hunters, the trail was as con 
spicuoas as . ever. I saw that after searching a few seconds, 
they had iaken it up, and were^Hice more moving aloug, guided 
by the tracks. Some slight hollows I could perceive* distributed 
here and there over the ground, and scarcely distinguishable 
from the surrounding level. Certainly, without having been 
told what they were, I should not have known them to be the 
tracks of a horse. • 

It proved a wide prairie, and we seemed to be crossing its 
central part. The fire had spread far. 

At one place, nearly midway, where the trail was faint, and 
difficult to make out, we stopped for a short while to give the 
trackers time. A momentary curiosity induced me to gaze 
around. Awful was the. scene— awful without sublimity. Even 
the thorny^ chaparral no longer relieved the eye ; the- outline of 
its low -shrubbery had . sunk below the horizon, and on all sides 
stretched the charred plain up to the rim of the leaden canopy, 
black- i -black- i -illimitable. Had I beem alone, I might easily 
have yielded to the fancy, that the world was dead. 

Gazing over this vast, opacity, I for a moment forgot my 
companions, and fell into a sort of lethargio stupor. I fancied 
that I, too, was dead or dreaming — I fancied that I was in-bell 
— the Avernus of the ancients. In my youth, I had the misfor- 
tune to be well schooled in classic lore, to the neglect of studies 
thart are useful; and often in life have the poetical -absurdities 
of Greek and Latin mythology intruded themselves upon my 
spirit — both asleep and awake. I fancied, therefore, that some 
well-meaning Anchises had introduced me to the regions- below; 
ind that the black plain before me was some landscape in the 
kingdom of Pluto. Reflection — had I been capable of . that — 
would have convinced me of my.error. No part of that mon- 
arch’s dominions can be so thinly peopled. 

I was summoned to reason again by the voices of my followers. 
The lost trail had been found, and they were moving on. 


THE TALK OF THE TRACKERS. 


307 


CHAPTER I/XXI. 

THE TALK OP THE TRACKERS. 

I spurred after, and soon overtook them. Regardless of the 
dust, I rode close in the rear of the trackers, and listened to what 
they were saying. 

These “ men of the mountains ”■ — as they prided to call them- 
selves — were peculiar. While engaged in a duty, such as the 
present, they would scarce disclose their thoughts, even to me; 
much-less were they ..communicative with the rest of my following, 
whom they were accustomed to regard as “ greenhorns ” — their 
favorite appellation for -all men who have not made the tour of the 
grand-prairies. Notwithstanding that. Stanfield and Black were 
backwoodsmen and hunters by profession, Quackenboss a splen- 
did -shot, Le Blanc a regular “ voyageur” and the others more 
or less skilled in woodcraft, all were » greenhorns in the opinion 
of the trappers. To be otherwise, a man must have starved upon 
a “ sage-prairie ” — “ run ” buffalo by the Yellowstoneor Platte — 
fought “ Injuu,” and shot Indian — have well-nigh lost scalp or 
ears— spent a winter in -Pierre’s Hole upon Green River — or 
camped amid the snows of the Rocky Mountains 1 Some. one of 
all these feats must-needs have been . performed ere the “green 
horn ” can matriculate and take rank as a “ mountain man.” 

I of all my party was the.ouly one who, in the eyes of Rube 
and Garey, was not a greenhorn, and even I— rgentleman ama- 
teur that I was — was -hardly up either in their confidence or 
their “ craft.” It is indeed, true — with all classic.- accomplish- 
ments, with my4ne-w r ords, my fine horse, and my fine clothes — 
so long as we were within the limits of prairie-land, I acknow- 
ledged these men as- my superiors. They were my guides, my 
instructors, my .masters. 

Since overtaking them on the trail, I had not asked them tQ 


308 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


give any opinion. I dreaded a direct answer — for I had noticed 
something like a despairing look in the eyes of both. 

As I followed them over the black plaiu, however, I thought 
that their faces brightened a little, and appeared once more lit 
up by a faint ray of hope. For that reason, I rode close upon 
their heels, and eagerly caught up every word that was passing 
between them. Rube was speaking when I first drew near. 

“ Waghl I dou’t- b’lieve it, Bill;' ’taint possyble no-how-so 
ever. The paraira wur-sof afire — must ’a been; thur’s no other 
ways for it. It couldn’t ’a tuk to-bleezin o’ itself — eh?” 

“ Sartinly not; I agree wi’ you, Rube.” 

“ Wal — thur wur a fellur as I met oncest at Bent’s Fort on 
the Arkinsaw — a odd sort o’ critter he wur, an’ no mistake; he 
us’t to go pokin’ about, gatherin’ weeds an’ all sorts, o’ green 
garbijjchj an’^spreadin’ ’em out atween sheets o’ paper — whet he 
called buttoneyesih— jest like thet ur Dutch doctur as wur rub- 
bed out, when we went into the Navagh country, t’other side o 
the Grand.” 

“ I remembers him.” 

“ Wal, thisJiyur fellur Ltell ’ee about, he us*iHtfb talk mighty 
big o’ this,- thet, and t’other; an’ he palavered a, heap ’bout a 
thing thet, ef I don’t disremember, wur called sjpuntaynyus hum- 
buxshuny . : 


“ I’veheerd o’ ’t; that are the name” 

“ Wal, the button-eyeser, he. sayed thet a paraira mout take 
afire o’ itself, ’ithout anybody whatsomdiver hevin sot it. Now, 
thet ur’s what this child don’t b’lieve, nohow. In coorse, I knows 
thet lightnin’ sometimes may sot a paraira a bleezin’, but lightnin’ 
’s a natral fire o’ itself; and it’s only reezunible to expect thet 
the dry grass wud catch from it like punk ; but I shed, like to 
know how .fire kud kindle by itself— thet’s whet I shed like to 
know.” 

“ I don’t-believe it can,” rejoined Garey. 

u Ne’er a bit o’ it I never seed a_burn ; n’ paraira yit, thet 


THE TALK OF THE THACKERS. 


369 


tliur waVt eyther a. camp-fire or a Injun at the bottom o’ it — • 
thet ur ’eeptin whur lightnin’ hed did the bizness.” 

“ And you think, Rube, thar’s been . Injun at the bottom o’ 
this ?’ ’ 

“ Putty nigh sure; and I’ll gie you my reezuns. Fust, do ’ee 
see thur’s been no lightuin’ this mornin’ to ’a made the fire ? 
Seconds, it’s too fur west hyur for any settlement o’ whites — in 
coorse I speak o’ Texans — thur might be Mexikins ; them I 
don’t call white, nohow nosomediver. And then, agin, it kin 
scarce be Mexikins neyther. It ur too fur no’th for any o’ the 
yellur .-bellies to be a strayin’ jest now, seein as it’s th ^MexiMn 
moon wi’ the Kimanchees, an’ both them an’ the Leepans ur cn 
the -war-trail. Wal, then, it’sclur thur’s no Mexikin ’bout hyur 
to hev sot the paraira afire, an. thur’s been no lightnin to do it; 
thurfor, it must ’a been did eyther by a Injun, or thet ui dod- 
rotted spuntaynyus kumbuxshun.”^f^ Cl ^^ , ^ 

“ One or t’other.” 

“ Wal r bein’ as this child don’t b’lieve in the kumbuxskr.n no- 
how, thurfor it’s myjopeenyun thet red Injuns did the bizness- — 
tlwy did sartint.” 

“ No doubt of it,” assented Garey. 

“ An ef they did,” continued the old trapper, “ thur. about y't 
soraewhur not fur off, an’ we’ve. got to keep a sharp look-out for 
our har — n?e*hev.” 

“ Safe, we.have,” assented Garey. 

“ I telh’ee. Bill,” continued Rube, in a new strain, “ the In- 

o 

juns is mighty riled jest now. I never knowd ’em so^avagercus 
an’ £ghty. The war hez gin ’em a fresh start, an’ thur dander's 
,<?p agiu us, by reezun thet the gin’ral didn’t take thur offer to 
he l p us agin the yellur-bellies. Ef we-meet wi’ eyther-Kiraauch 
ibr Eeepan on these hyur. plains, thu’lLscalp us, or we’ll-scalp 
etc — thet’ll be it. WaghI” 

“ But what for- could they ’a.sot the parairy on fire ?” inqnired 
Garey. 

16 * 


370 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


Thet-ere,” replied Rube, “ thet ere war what puzzled me at 
fust. I thort it mout ’a been done by accydeut— preehaps by 
the .scatterin’ o’ a camp-lire — for Injuns is careless enuf ’bout 
thet. Now, liows’owever, I’ve got a diff’rent idee. Thet story 
thet Dutch and Frenchy he.v fetched from the rancherie, gies me 
a insight inter the hull bizness.” 

I knew the “ story ” to which -Rube had reference. Lige and 
Le Blanc, when ut the village, had heard some rumor of an 
Indian foray that had just been made against one of the Mexi- 
can towns, not far from the rancheria. It had occurred on the 
same day that we marched out. The Indians^-supposed to be 
Lipans or Comanches — had sacked the place, and carried off 
both plunder and captives. A party of them had passed near 
the rancheria after we ourselves had left it. This party had 
w called ” at the Hacienda de Yargas and completed the pillage, 
left unfinished by the guerrilla. This was the substance of what 
the messengers had heard. 

“You mean about the Injuns ?” said Garey, half interroga- 
tively. 

•“ In coorse,” rejoined Rube. “ Belike enuf, ’em Injuns ur the 
same niggurs we gin such a rib-roastin’ to by the mouni Wagh ! 
they- h ain't gone back to thur mountains, as ’twur b’lieved; they 
dassent ’a*gcne back in sich disgrace, ’ithout takin eyther^Iiar^ or 
hosses. The squaws ud ’a booted ’em.” 

“ Sure enough.” 

“ Sure - sartin^. Wal,-Billee, ’ee see now what I mean : thet 
party’s been a. sWketifi ’bout hyur ever since, till /bey got a 
fust-rate - chance at the Mexikin town, an’- thur they’ve struck a 
blow” 

“ It’s mighty- like as you say, Rube; but. why have they- sot 
fire to the parairy ?” ^ . 

“Wagh! Bill, kin ye not, see why : it ur plain as Pike £ 
Peak on a summery day.” 

“ I don’t-see,” responded Garey, in a-thoughtful tone. 


THE TALK OF THE THACKERS. 


3 a 


u Well, this child do ; an’ this-ur the reezun : as I- tell ’ee, the 
Injuns hain’tjorgot the- lambaystin they hed by the- moan \ an 
proehaps. bein’ now a-weak party, an’ thinkin that we as wolloped 
’em wurstil) F the rancherie, they wur afeerd thet on hearin o’ 
thur pilledgin’, we moat be arter’em.” 

“ An’ they’ve burnt the parairy to-kiver thur trail ?” 

“ Preezactly so.” 

** By gosh, you’re right, Rube ? — it’s uncommon like. But 
whar do you think this trail’s goin’ ? Surely, the hoss hain t 
been caught in the fire ?” 

I bent forward in the saddle, and listened with acute, eager- 
ness. To my great- relief, the answer of the old trapper was in 
the negative. 

“ He hain’t,” said he ; “ ne’er a-bit o’ it. His trail, do ’ee 
see, runs in a- bee-line, or dost on a bee-line ; now, ef the fire 
hed ’a begun afore he wur acrosst this paraira, he wud long 
since ’a doubled ’bout, an tuk the back track; but ’ee see he 
hain’t-did so ; thurfor, I conclude he’s safe through it, an’, the 
grass must ’a been sot-afire ahint ’im.” 

I breathed freely after listening to these words. A- load 
seemed -lifted from my-breast* for up to this moment I had been 
vainly^endeavoring to combat the fearful apprehension that had 
shaped itself in my imagination. From the.^ moment that we 
had entered the burned prairie, my. eyes constantly, and almost 
mechanically, had sought the ground in front of our course, had 
wandered over it, with uneasy glance, in dread of beholding 
formsA^lifeless-^-burned and charred 

The words of the trapper gave relief— almost an- assurance 
that the -steed and his rider were still safe — and, under inspire 
tion of renewed hope, I rode more cheerfully forward. 


372 


THE WAR-TRAIL 


CHAPTER LX XII. 

“ INJUN SIGN.” 

After a pause, the guides resumed their conversation, and 1 
continued to-listen. I had a-reason for not- mingling in it. It 

rf * 

I joined them in their, counsels, they might not express their 
convictions so freely, and I was -desirous of knowing what they 
truly thought. By keeping close behind them, I could hear all — 
myself unnoticed under the uloud of dust that rose around us. 
On the soft. ashes, the hoof-stroke was- scarcely audible, our 
horses gliding along in a sweeping, silent walk. 

“ By Gosh ! then,” said Garev, “if Injuns -fired the parairy, 
they must ’a -done it to -wind’ard, aid we’re travellin’ right in the 
teeth o’ the wind ; we’re -goird in a ugly direction, Rube ; what 
do you think o’t, old boss ?” 

“Jest— what you sez, boyee — a cussed ugly direckshun — 
durnation’d ugly.” 

“ It -aint many hours since the fire begun, and the redskins 
won’t bo far from t’ other side, I reckon. If the hoss-trail leads 
us right on them, we’ll be in a fix, old boy.” 

“ Aye,” replied Rube, in a low but significant drawl ; “ ef it 
do, an’ ef this niggur don’t a miskalkerlate, it will lead right ou 
em, plum straight custrut into thur camp. 

I -started on hearing this. I could no longer remain silent ; 
but brushing rapidly forward to the side of the trapper, in hasty 
phrase demanded his meaning. 

“Jest what ’ee’ve heern me say, yOung fellur,” was his re- 
ply. 

“ You .think that there are Indians ahead — that the horse 
has gone to their camp 1” 

“No, not gone thur ; nor kin I say for sartint thur ur Injuns 


INJUN SIGN. 


373 


u 




yet; though it looks mighty like. Ther’s nuth in’, else to guv 
reezuu for the fire — nnthin’ as Bill or me can -think o’; an’ ef 
thur be-lnjans, then I don’t-tUink the hoss hez g&w to thur 
camp, but I do kalkerlate it’s mighty like he’s been tuk thur ; 
thet’s whet I thinks, young fellur.” 

‘‘You mean that thedndians have captured him ?” 

“That’s preezactly what this child means.” 

“ But how ? What reason have you for thinking so 1” 

“ Wal— jest because I -think so.” 

41 Pray explain, Rube 1” I said, in an appealing tone, 
feared that his secretive instincts would get the better of him, 
and he would .delay giving his reasons, from a pure love of mys- 
tification that was*-inherent in the old fellow’s nature. I was 
too anxious to be patient ; but my appeal proved .successful. 

“ Wal, ’ee see, young fellur, the hoss must ’a crosst hyur jest 
afore this prairia wur sot .afire ; and it’s mighty- reezunible to 
s’pose thet _whosomediver did the bizness, Injun or no Injun, 
must V been to win’ard o’ hyur. It ur also likely enuf, I 
reckun, thet the^party must ’a jseed the dioss ; and it ur likely 
agin thet- nobody .wa’nt a~gwine to, see ^e£-hoss, wi’ the gurl 
stropped down ’long his hump ribs, ’ithout being kewrious enuf 
to take-arter i’m. Injuns ’ud be-safe to. go arter ’im, yellin’ like 
blazes ; and arter ’im -they’ve gone, and roped ’im, I reckun — - 
that they’ve done.” 

“ You think they could have caught him ?” 

“ Sartin. The hoss by -then must ’a been- dead beat — thet ur, 
unless he’s- got the divvel in ’em; an by Geehorura ! I gin to 

surspect . Gehu— Gehosophat ! jest as I said; lookee, thur 

--thur !” 

“What is it?” I inquired, seeing the speaker suddenly halt, 
and point to the ground, upon which his eyes also were fixed. 
“ What is it, Rube ? I can perceive nothing strange.” 

“ Don’t ’ee see ’em hoss-tracks I — thur !— thick as sheep feet 
--hundreds o’ ’em 1” 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


tn 

I certainly noticed some slight hollows in the surface, nearly 
levelled trp by the black ashes. I should not have known them 
to be horse-tracks. 

“They ur,” said Rube, “every one o’ ’em — an’ Injun hoss 
tracks, sure.” 

“ They may be the-wild bosses, Rube 1” said one of the ran- 
gers, riding up, and surveying the sign. 

“ Wild-jackasses 1” angrily retorted the old trapper. “ Whur 
did you ever see a wild hoss ? Do ’ee e’pose I’ve turned stone 
blind, do ’ee ? Stan-thur, my mai<4” he cried, flinging his lean 
curcass~out of the saddle, at the same time, talking to his mare : 
“’ee knows better than thet fellur, I km/tell by the way yur 
sniftirA Keep yur. ground a minute, ole gurl, till ole Rube- shew 
these hyur greenhorns how a mountain man kin read sign — 
wild bosses 1 -wagh I” 

After thus delivering himself, the trapper- dropped upon his 
knees r placed his., lips close to the ground, and commenced blow- 
ing at the black ashes. All had by this time ridden up, and sat 
in their saddles watching him. 

We saw that he was. clearing the ashes out of one of the 
hollows which he had pronounced to be horse-tracks, and which 
now proved to be-so. 

“Thur, now, mister !” said he turning triumphantly, and 
rather-savagely, upon the rang^ who had questioned the truth 
of his-conjecture ; “ thur’s a shod track~shod wi’. parflesh, too. 
Did ’ee ever see a wild hoss, or a wild mule, or a wild jackass 
eyther, shod wi’. parflesh ? Ef ’ee did, it’s more ’n Rube Rawlins 
ever seed, and that ur trapper’s been on the hoss-plaius well 
nigh forty yeern. , Wagh 1” 

Of course, there was no reply to this interrogatory. There 
was the track, and, dismounting, we all examined it in turn. 

Sure enough it was the track of a -shod horse--shod with 
parjieehc — thick leather, made from the hide of the baffalo 
bull. 


375 


TRANSLATING THE “ SIGN/' 

We all knew this to be a- mode of- shoeing practised by the 
horseL-Indians of the plains, and, only bv-them. 

The evidence was -conclusive : -Indians had been upon the 
ground. 


CHAPTER LXXIII. 

TRANSLATING THE “SIGN ” 

This discovery brought us to a halt. A consultation ensued, 
in which, all took- part ; but as usual the others listened to 
the ^opinions of the > prairie-men, and -especially to that of 
Rube. 

The old trapper was-inclined to .sulk for some time, and acted 
as if he meant to withhold his advice. Nothing “ huffed” him 
more than to have his word contradicted, or his-skill called in 
question. I have known him to be “ out of sorts” for days, 
from having his woodcraft doubted by -some one whom he deem- 
ed -less -skilled than himself ; and indeed there were few of his 
kind whose knowledge of the wilderness was at alUcomparable 
with -his He was not.always in the right, but-generally where 
his instincts Tailed, it was idle to try -furt her. In the present 
case, tne man who had thoughtlessly doubted him waKone of 
the “-greenest” of the party, but this- verdancy only. aggravated 
the matter in the eyes of old Rube. 

“ Sich a* fellur as -you,” he said, giving a last dig to the offend- 
ing ranger — ‘isich a fellur as you .oughter. git yur heart shet up : 
tlet ur tongue oV yourn keeps a-gwine like a bull’s tail in fly- 
time. Wagh !” 

As the-man made no reply to this rather rough remonstrance, 
Rube’s ^dander” soon.smothed down, and once more getting 
cool, he turned his attention to the business of the hour. 

That there had been Indians upon the ground was-now an 


576 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


ascertained . fact ; the peculiar shoeing of the horses rendered it 
indubitable. Mexican Jiorses, if- shod at all, would have had a 
shoeing of iron — at_ least on their fore feet Wild mustangs 
would have had the hoof ..naked ; while the tracks of Texan or 
American horses could have been easily- told, either from the 
peculiar shoeing or the superior size of their hoofs. The horses 
^hat had galloped over that ground were -neither wild, Texan, 
nor Mexican : Indian they must have been. 

Although the one track first examined might have settled the 
point, it was a. fact of too much importance to be left under the 
shghtest. doubt. The presence of Indians meant the presence of 
enemies— foes dire and deadly ; and it was with something more 
than leelings of mere curiosity that my companions scrutinized 
the sign. 

The ashes were blown out from several others, and these 
carefully studied. Additional, facts were brought to light by 
those Champollions of the prairie — Rube and Garey. Whoever 
rode the horses, had been going in a gallop. They had not rid- 
den long in, one course ; but here and there had turned and 
struck off in new directions. There had been a .score or so of 
them. No two had been galloping, together ; their .tracks con- 
verged or crossed one another — now zigzagging, now runuing iu 
right lines, or sweeping in curves and circles over the plain. 

All this knowledge the trackers had. obtained in less than ten 
minutes, simply by riding round the place. Not to disturb 
them in their diagnosis, the rest of us halted upon the spot 
where the new tracks had been first observed, and there awaited 
the result of their scrutiny. 

In ten minutes , time both came back to us ; they had read 
/he sign to their satisfaction, and needed no further light. 

That sign had. disclosed to them one fact of more significance 
than all the rest. Of course, we all knew that the Indian 
horsemen had gone over the ground before the grass had been 
burnt j but how long before? We had no difficulty in making 


TRANSLATING THE “-SIGN.’* 


3T7 

out that it was- upon that same day, and since the rising of the 
sun — these were trifles easily ascertained ; but at what hour had 
they passed? Late, or early? With the steed, before, or 
after him ? 

About this point I was most anxious, but I had not the 
slightest idea that It could be decided by the “sign.” To my 
astonishment, those cunning hunters returned to tell me, not 
only the very hour at which the steed had passed the spot, but 
also that the Indian horsemen had been riding after him ! Clair- 
voyance could scarcely have gone farther. 

The old trapper had grown expletive, more than was his wont. 
It was no longer a matter of tracking the white steed. Indians 
were near. Caution had become necessary, and neither the 
company nor counsel of the humblest was to be scorned. We 
might soon stand in need of the strength even o£the weakest in 
our party. 

Freely, then, the trackers communicated their discoveries, in 
answer to my interrogations. 

“ The-white hoss,” said Rube, “ must ’a been hyur ’bout four 
hours ago, kalkerlatin’ the rate at which he wur a gwine, and 
kalkerlatirx’ how fur he hed ter kum. He haiut ’a stopped-no- 
whur; an’.’ceptin V *the. thicket, he hez gallipt the rest o’ the way 
— thet’s clur. Wal, we knows the distance, thurfor we knows 
the time — thet’s clur too; an’ four hour’s ’bout the mark, I reck’n 
— preehaps a leetle less, an alser preehaps a leetle more. Now, 
furrermore to the peint. Them niggurs hez been eyther dost 
arter ’im, in view o’ the critter, or follerin’. ’im on the trail — the 
Dne or the t’other — an’ which ’taint possyble to tell wi’ t! is hyur 
sign,„no-how-cum-somever. But thet they wur arter ’in- me an ; 
Bill’s made out^lur as mud — thet we sartintly hez ” 

“ How have you. ascertained that they were after?” 

“ The'tracks, young fellur — the tracks.” 

“ But how by them ?” 


SYS 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


“ Easy as eatin’ hump-rib : them as wur made by the white 
hoss ur un'ermost .” 

The conclusion was clear indeed. The Indians must have 
been after him. 

We stayed no longer upon the spot, but once more sending 
the trackers forward, moved on after them. 

We had advanced about half a mile farther, when the horse- 
tracks, hitherto scattered, and tending iu~ different directions, 
became merged together, as though the Indians had been riding, 
not in single file — as is their ordinary method — but in an irreg- 
ular body of several abreast. 

The trackers, after proceeding along this new trail for a hun- 
dred yards or so, deliberately drew up, and dismounting, bent 
down upon their hands and knees, as if once more to examine 
the signs. The rest of us halted a little* behind, and watched 
their proceedings without offering to question them. 

Both were, observed to be busy, blowing aside the ashes, not 
from any particular track, but from the full breadth of the trail. 

In a few minutes they succeeded in removing the black dust 
from a stretch of several yards — so that the numerous, hoof- 
prints could be distinctly traced, side by side, or overlapping 
and half obliterating one another. 

Kube now returned to where they had commenced, and then 
once more leisurely advancing upon his knees, with eyes close to 
the surface, appeared to scrutinize the print of every hoof sepa- 
rately. 

Before he had reached the spot where Garey was still en- 
gaged in clearing off the dust, he rose to his feet with an air 
that told he was satisfied, and turning to his companion, cried 
out : 

“ Don’t bother furrer, Bill: it ur jest as I thort ; they’ve 
*ped ’im. Geehosophat l” 


THE STEED LAZOED. 




CHAPTER LXXIV. 

THE STEED LAZOED. 

Ir was not the ernphatic^tone in which this announcement waj 
made that produced within me conviction of its truth ; I should 
have been convinced without that. I was better than half pre- 
pared for the intelligence thus rudely conveyed ; for I was my- 
self not altogether unskilled in that art of which my trapper- 
companions were masters. 

I had observed the sudden convergence of the horse-tracks; 
I had noticed, also, that after coming together, the animals had 
proceeded at a slow pace — at a walk. I needed, only to per- 
ceive the hoof of the. steed among the others, to know that he 
no longer ran. free — that he was adaptive. 

This the tracker had. found; hence the decisive declaration 
that the Indians had “ roped ” him — in other words, had caught 
him with their lazoes. 

“ Sartint they’ve- tuk ’im,” asserted Rube, in answer to an in- 
terrogatory : “sartint sure; hyur’s his track clur as daylight. 
He’s been led hyur at the end o’ a laryette; he’s been nigh the 
middle o’ the crowd — some in front — some hev been arter ’im — 
thet’s how they’ve gone past hyur. Wagh 1” continued the 
speaker, once more turning his eyes upon the trail, “ thur’s been 
a good grist on ’em— twunty or more ; and ef this child don’t 
miskalkerlate, thet-ain’t the hull o’ the niggurs ; it ain’t. ’Tur 
only- some o’ ’em as galliped out to rope the boss. I’d lay my 
rifle agin a Mexican blunderbox, thur’s a bigger party than this 
nigh at-hand somewhur hyur. By Geehosophat, thur’s toun to 
be, -sartint as sunup 1” 

The suspicion that had half formed itself in ray mind was no 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


longer hypothetical ; the sign upon the trail had settled that ; 
it was now a positive intelligence— t-a conviction. The steed had 
been, taken ; he and his rider were-captive in the hands of the 
Indians. 

This knowledge brought with it a crowd of new- thoughts, in 
which emotions of the most opposite character were mingled 
together. 

The hrsfc was a sensation of joy. The steed had been cap- 
tured, and by human beings. Indians at least were men, and 
possessed human hearts. Though in the-rider they might recog- 
nize the lineaments of their pale-faced foes — not so strongly 
neither — yet a woman, and in such a dilemma ; what reason 
could they have for hostility to her ? None ; perhaps the very 
opposite passion might be excited by the spectacle of herhelp- 
less situation. They would see before them the. victim of some 
cruel revenge — the. act, too, of their own enemies ; this would 
be more likely to inspire them with sympathy aud pity ; they 
would relieve her from her perilous position ; would minister to 
her wants and wounds ; would tenderly nurse and cherish her : 
yes ; all this I felt assured. They were human ; how could they 
do otherwise ? 

Such was the first rush of my reflections on becoming assured 
that the steed had been captured by Indians — that Isolina was 
in their hands. I only thought of her safety — that she was 
rescued from pain and peril, perhaps from death ; and the 
thought was a gleam of joy. 

Alas ! only a gleam ; and the reflections that followed were 
painfully bitter. 

I could not help thinking of the character of the savages into 
whose-hands she had fallen. If they were the same band that 
had harried the frontier town, then they were southern Indians— 
Comanche or Lipan. The report said one or other ; and it was 
but too probable. True, the remnant of Shawanos and Dela- 
wares, with the Kickapoos and Texan Chertjkees, sometimes 


THE STEED LAZOED. 


331 


stray as far as the banks of the Rio Grande ; but the -conduct 
was-not theirs : these, tribes, from long, intercourse with whites, 

have been .inducted into a sort of semi-civilization ; and their 

* 

hereditary hostility for the pale-face has died out. Pillage and 
murder are no longer their trade ; it could not have been they 
who had made the late foray. It might have been “ Wild Cat/' 
with his wicked Seminoles, now settled on the Texan frontier ; 
but the act was more in keeping with the character of the 
mezcal-eating Apaches, who of late years had been pushing 
their expeditions far down the river. Even so — it mattered 
little; Apaches are butComanches, or rather. Comanches, Apa- 
ches, and whether the Indians on whose trail we were standing 
were one or the other — whether Apache, Lipan, Comanche, or 
their allies Cay glia, Waco, or Pawnee-Pict, it mattered not ; 
one and all were alike ; one or other Qf them, my reflections 
were bitterly the., same. Well, understood I the character of 
these „red men of thejsouth ; so far differing from their kindred 
of the north — so far .different from that ideal type of cold conti- 
nence \t has pleased the poet and the writer of romance to 
ascribe to them. The reverse of the medal was before my 
mind’s eye ; the. memory of many a scene was in my thoughts, 
of many a tale I had heard, illustrating the uxorious disposition, 
the wild, unbridled wantonness of these lords of the southern 
plains. 

Not then did I dwell long on such thoughts ; for they had 
their influence in urging me onward. 

But there was. another reason for our rapid advance : all of 
us were-under the extreme agony cf thirst — literally gasping for 
water ; and thus physical .suffering impelled us to ride forward 
as-fast as our jaded horses could carry us over the ground. 

Timber was at length before our eyes, green foliage, looking 
all the-iresher and brighter from contrast with the black plain 
which it-bounded. It was a grove of cotton-woods, skirting a 
prairie-stream ; and beyond this the fire had not extended. 


332 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


Wild joy ous^eries escaped from men an&diorses, as thj.r ey08 
rested upon the limpid stream. The men- leaped out of their 
saddles, and without a thought of drowning, rushed breast-deep 
into the water. Some lifted the crystal liquid in their palms ; 
others, more impatient, bent down, and plunging their faces in 
the flood, drank a la mode, du cheval. 

I noticed that the trappers behaved less recklessly than the 
est ; before going down to drink, the eyes of both were directed, 
with instinctive, caution, along the banks, and into the timber. 

Close to where we had halted, I observed a crossing, where 
numerous tracks of animals -formed in the soil a deep, well-beaten 
path. Rube’s eyes were upon it, and I saw that they were 
glistening with unusuabexcitement. 

“ Told ’ee so !” cried he, after a short survey : “ yonder’s thui 
trail — war-trail , by the Eturnal 1” 


CHAPTER LXXY. 

THE “INDIOS BRAVOS.” 

You may be. asking, what the trapper meant by a war-trail ? 
it has been a phrase of frequent -occurrence with us. It is a 
phrase of the -frontier. Even at the eleventh hour, let me offer 
its explanation. 

For half a century — av, for, three centuries and more — even 
since the.conquest itself— the northern frontier of Mexico has 
been in, what is termed in old-fashioned phraseology, a. “ dis- 
turbed state.” Though the semi-civilized Aztecs, and the kin- 
dred races of town-dwelling Indians, easily yielded to the sword 
of the Spanish conquerors, far different has been theuhistory of 
the- wild tribes— the free hunters of the plains. Upon those 
mighty steppes that occupy the whole, central area of the North 


£83 


THE “ INDIOS BKAYOS.” 

American continent, dwell tribes of Indians — nations they might 
be called — who neither know, nor ever have known, other rule 
than that of their pwuuchieftaius. Even when .Spain was at her 
strongest, she flailed to subjugate the “Indios bravos” of her 
frontiers, who to the, present hour have preserved their wild 
freedom. I speak not of the great nations of the northern 
prairies — Sioux and Cheyenne — Blackfeet and Crow— Pawnee 
and Arapahoe. With these the Spanish race scarcely came iu 
contact. I refer more particularly to the tribes whose range 
impinges upon the frontiers of Mexico— Comapche, Lipan, Utah, 
Apache, and Navajo. 

It is not in the^nnnals of Spain to. prove that any one of these 
tribes evenyielded to her conquering^sword ; and equally a fail- 
ure has been the ..attempt to wheedle them into a fanatical civi- 
lization by the much boasted-oonquest of the mission. Free, 
then, the prairie Indians are from. white man’s rule, and free 
have they been, as if the keels of Columbus had never plowed the 
Carib Sea. 

But although they have preserved their independence for three 
centuries, for„,three centuries have Iheynever known peace. Be- 
tween the red Indian and the white Iberian, along the frontier of 
Northern Mexico, a war-border has existed since the days of Cor- 
tez to the present hour — constantly shifting north or south, but 
ever extended from east to west, from ocean to ocean, through wide 
degrees of longitude. .. North of this -border ranges the “Indio 
bravo f south of it dwells his -degenerate and . conquered kins 
man, the “ Indio mauso,” not in the “- tents,” but in the towns of 
hisJSpanish conqueror ; the former- free as the prairie wind — the 
latteiryoked to a condition of ‘f peon” vassalage, with. chains as 
strong as those of- slavery itself. The.. neutral bei&'ot -hostile 
ground lies-between — on the one side, guarded by a line of gar- 
risoned forts (presidios), -on the other sheltered from attack by 
the wild and-waterless desert. 

8 I have stated that this war-border has been constantly ship 


384 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


ing either northward or southward. Such was its history up tc 
the beginning of the present cycle. Since then, a remarkable 
change has beeu going forward in the relative position of Indian 
and Iberian ; and the line of hostile ground has been moving 
only in one direction— continually towards the South ! To speak 
in less poetical phrase, the red man has been encroaching upon 
the territory of the white man — the* so-called savage has been 
gaining ground upon the domain of civilization. Not slowly or 
gradually, either, but by gigantic strides — by the conquest of 
whole provinces a* large as Eugland ten times told 1 

I shall make the announcement of a fact, or rather a hypothe- 
sis — scarcely well, known, though strange enough. It may 
interest, if not surprise, the, ethnologists. I assert, then, that 
had the four tribes of North Mexican Indiaus— Comanche, Li- 
pano, Apache, and Navajo — been left to themselves,^ in less than 
another century they would have driven the degenerate- descendants 
of the conquerors of Cortezi from the soil of -Anahuac ! I make 
this assertion witli a full belief and clear conviction of its truth- 
fulness. The hypothesis rests upon a basis of realities. It would 
require but very simple logic to prove it ; but a few facts may 
yield illustration. 

With the fall of Spanish rule in Mexico, ended the predomin- 
ance of the Spaniard over the Indian. By revolution the presi- 
dios became shorn of their strength, and no longer offered a 
barrier even to the weakest incursion. In fact, a neutral line 
no more exists; whole provinces— Sonora, Chihuahua, Tamau- 
lipas, Cinaloa, and Leon — are no better than neutral ground, 
or, to. speak more definitely, form an extended territory con- 
quered and desolated by the Indians. Even beyond these, into 
the “ provincias internas,” have the bold copper-colured free- 
booters of late carried their forays — even to the very gates of 
Durango. Tw<f hundred 'Comanche warriors, or as many 
Apaches, fear -not to ride hundreds of miles into the heart of 
civilized Mexico— hesitate not to attack a $ity or a settlement 


TIIE “indios TUfAvoR.” 


385 


— scruple not to dragJrom hearth and . home lovely maids and 
tender children — ^only these — and carry them slave and captive 
to their wildjastnesses in tbejdesert! And this is no occasional 
foray, no long^athering.outburst of revenge or retaliation; but 
an iiTmtto/jexpedition, forming part of the regular routine of the 
year, and occurring at the season when the buffalo have migrat- 
ed to the north-^occurring in that month in the. calendar of 
these aboriginaLbrigands, jocosely styled the “ Mexican moon!” 

Upon whose head falls the blow thus periodically repeated? 
Upon the^oor and unprotected? No doubt you will fancy so. 

A singlejact may serve to jmdeceive you. Only a few years 
ago, Trias, a man of “first family ” in Mexico, and.goveruor of 
the State of „ .Chihuahua, dost one of his sons by an Indian foray. 
The boy was taken prisoner by the. Comanches; and it was only 
after years of ..negotiation and payment of a large sum, that the 
father recovered hisw child. Thu3 the governor of a .province, 
with means and military at his command, was not powerful 
enough to. cause the surrender of his captive son; he was forced 
to buy him! 

It is computed, that at this moment, there are. three thousand 
white captives in the. hands of the North Mexican Indians — 
nearly Jill of them of-Spanish descent. They are mostly-females, 
and-dive as the .slave-wives of their captors — if such_.connection 
may be-diguified by the~name. There arejvhite men r too, among 
thejndian prisoners, Jaken in their, youth; an&strange as it may 
appear, Jew of them — ^either of the men or women-^e vince any 
desire to return to their former life or homes. Some, when ran- 
somed, have refused the-boon. Notuncommon along the frontier 
has been witnessed that, heart-rending scene — a father ^o had 
recovered his child from the savages, and yet unable toj’eclaim its 
affection, or even to^arouse it to a xecognition of its- parentage. 
Iu a- few years — sometimes only, months — the gaptive.s forget 
their early dies, and becccJe- wedded to their, new life — become 
Indiaiiized. 


IT 


TUB WAR-TEA IT,. 


336 


Bat a-short time before, an instance had come under our own 
observation. The. wounded brave taken in the skirmish at the 
mound,, was a full-blooded Mexican — had been- carried off by 
the Comanches, some years before, from the settlements on the 
Lower Rio Grande. In consideration of this, we gave him his 
liberty, undef- the impression that he would gladly avail himself 
of the opportunity to return to his kindred. 

He proved wanting in gratitude as in natural affection. The 
same night on which he was set free, he took the route back to 
the prairies, mounted upon one of the best horses of our troop, 
which he had stolen from its unfortunate owner I 

Such are the “Cosas de Mexico” — a-few of the traits of 
frontier life on the Rio Bravo del Norte. 

But what of the war-trail ? That ismot yet explained. 

Know then, that from the country of the Indians to that of 
the Mexicans extend many great paths, running for hundreds 
of miles from point to point. They follow the courses of streams 
or cross vast desert plains, where water is found only at long in- 
tervals of distance. They are marked by the tracks of mules, 
horses and captives. Here and there they are whitened by 
bones — the, bones of men, of women, of animals, that have- per- 
ished by the way. Strange paths are these ! What are they, 
and, who has- made them ? Who travel by these roads that 
lead through the wild and homeless desert ? 

Indians : they are the paths of the Comanche and-Caygua 
— the roads made by their warriors during the “ Mexican 
moon.” 

It was. upon one of these that the "trapper was- gazing when 
he gave out the emphatic -utterance : 

“War-trad, by the Eturnal !” 


ON THE WAR-TRAIL. 


387 


CHAPTER LXXVI. 

ON THE WAR-TRAIL. 

Scarcely staying to quench my thirst, IJed my horse across 
the stream, and commenced scrutinizing the trail upon the oppo- 
site bank. The faithful trackers were by my side — no fear of 
them lagging behind. 

I had won the- hearts of both these men; and that they 
would have risked life to serve me, I could no longer doubt, 
since over and over again they had .risked it. For Garey, 
strong, courageous, handsome in the true sense, and noble- 
hearted, I felt real friendship, which the young trapper recipro- 
cated. For his «i)lder comrade, the. feeling I had was. like him 
self— rindefinabte, ..indescribable. It was stronglyjinctured with 
admiration, but admiration of the intellectual rather than the 
moral or personal ..qualities of the man. 

Instead ofJntellectual,,I should, rather say-instinctive, for his 
keenjntuitive. thoughts. appeared more like instincts than the re- 
sults of a process of ratiocination. 

That the old trapper admired me — in his own. phraseology, 
“ liked me mightily” — I was aware. He was. equally as zealous 
as the younger in my- service ; but too free an exhibition of zeal 
was in his^eyes a ..weakness, and he endeavoured to conceal it. 
His .admiration of myself was perhaps owing to the fact that I 
neither -attempted to thwart him in his humors nor rival him 
in I is peculiar -knowledge — the craft of the prairie. In this I 
was but - his pupil, and , behaved as such, generally deferring to 
his judgment. 

Another impulse acted upon the trackers — sheer. love of the 
part they were -now playing. Just as the . hound doves the 


388 


THE WAR-TRAIL, 


trail, so did^they ; and hunger, thirst, weariness, one or all 
must be felt to an .extreme degree before they would voluntarily 
forsake.it. 

Scarcely staying, therefore, to quench their thirst, they fol- 
lowed _me out of the water ; and all three of us together bent 
our attention to the sign. 

It was a war-trail-^a true war-trail. There was not the track 
of a dog — not the drag of a lodge-pole upon it. Had it been a 
moving encampment of peaceable Indians, these signs would have 
been.visible ; moreover, there would have been seem numerous 
footsteps of Indian women — of. squaws ; for the. slave-wife of 
the lordly-Comanche iaxompelled to traverse the prairies a pied, 
loaded like the.pack -horse that follows at her heels ! 

But though no-foot-prints of Indian women appeared, there 
were - tracks of women, . scores of them, plainly imprinted in the 
soil of the river-bank. Those slender- impressions, scarcely a 
span in length, smoothly, moulded in the mud, were not to be 
mistaken for the footsteps of an Indian.squaw. There was-not 
the wide divergence at the -heels — the toes turned inward; 
neither was there the moccasin-print. { No ; those tiny tracks 
must have been made by women of that nation who possess 
the smallest and prettiest feet in the world— by women of 
Mexico. 

“ Captives 1” we ..exclaimed, as soou as our -eyes rested upon 
the tracks. 

“ Ay, poor critters 1” said Rube, sympathizingly; “ the cussed 
niggurs hev made ’em fut it, while thur’s been spare bosses a 
plenty. Wagh ! a good wheen o’ weemen thur’s been— a score 
on ’em at the least. Wagh ! I pity ’em poor gurls ! in sech 
kumpny as they’ve got into. It ur a life they’ve got to lead 
Wagh !” 

Rube did not reflect how heavily his words were falling upon 
my heart. 

There were the tracks of more than a hundred horses, and as 


ON THE WAR-TRAIL. 


389 


many~mules. Some of both were.. -iron-shod ; but for all that 
we. knew they had been either ridden or driven by Indians; they, 
too, were-captives. 

The sign helped ray companions to much knowledge that would 
have been- unintelligible to me. It was certainly the path of a 
war-party of Indians on the hack track. They were laden with 
plunder, and driving before them, or forcing to follow, a crowd 
of captives— horses, mules, and women— children, too, for we 
saw the tiny foot-marks of tender age. The trail was significant 
of all this^-even to me. , 

But my comrades saw more; they no. longer doubted jthat the 
Indians were Comanches — a. moccasin had been picked up, a 
castaway, and the leathern tassel attached to the heel, declared 
the tribe to which its wearer belonged to be the Comanche. 

The trail was quite fresh; that is, but a few hours had inter- 
vened since the Indians passed along it. Notwithstanding 
the dryness of the atmosphere, the mud on the river-edge had 
not yet-become “skinned,” as the trappers expressed it. The 
Indians had lorded the stream about the time the prairie was set 
on fire. 

The horses we had been following across the burnt plain were 
those of a party who had gone out in pursuit of the.-steed. Just 
at the-ford they had overtaken the main body, who carried along 
the.spoil and captives. From that point, all had advanced to- 
gether. 

Had they done so ? This was our first, object of inquiry. It 
was almost too^probable to admit of a doubt; but we. desired to 
be certain about a matter of such primary importance, and we 
looked for the hoof with the piece chipped from its edge — easily 
to be identified by all of us. In the muddy margin of the stream 
we could not find it; but the steed may have, been led or ridden 
in front of* the rest, and his tracks trampled out by the thick 
drove that followed. 

At this moment .Stanfield came up and-joined us in the exami 


$90 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


Ration. The ranger had scarcely t bent his- eyes on the trail, 
when a significant„exelamation escaped him. lie stood pointing 
downward to the track of a shod horse. 

“ My .-horse !” cried he; “ my- horse Hickory, by Gosh !” 

“ Your horse ?” 

“ May I never see Kaintuck if it aint.” 

“Yur sure o’, it, ole hoss ? yur sure it’s yurn ?” 

“ Sure as shootin’; I shod him myself. I kid tell that ere 
track on a dry sand-bar. I know every nail thar; I druv ’em 
wi’ my own hand — it’s him sartin.” 

“ Wheeo-o 1” whistled Rube, iu his significant way, “ thet 
makes things a leetle plainer, I reck’n; an’ so I- thort all along— 
an’ so I thort — ye-es— so I thort. The durned^rennygade nig ; , 
gur !” he-- added, with angry emphasis, “ I know’d Weilud 
wrong to let-’im go; we ooghter served ’im as I perposed; we 
oughter cut his durnation throat, an’ scalped ’iin the minnut we 
tuk ’im ; cuss the luck thet we didn’t 1 Wagh !•” 

Rube’s words needed no interpretation. We- knew whose 
throat he would have cut — that of the I ndianized Mexican taken 
at the^mesa ; and I remembered that at the. time of his . capture 
such had been Rube’s advice— overruled, of course, by the more 
merciful of his comrades. The trapper had assigned some rea- 
son : he. knew something of the man’s history. 

He now repeated his reasons : 

“ He ur a true^ennygade,” said he ; “ an’ thur aint on all the 
parairas a-wusser enemy to whites than thet ur — more partik- 
lurly to Texan whites. He wur at the massacree o’ Wilson’s 
family on the clur fork o’ the Brazos, an’ wur ? conspik’us in the 
skrimmage; a’ more too — it ur thort he tbatedlofF one o’ Wilson’s 
gurls, an’-made a...squaw q’ her, for he’s mighty- given thet way, 
I’ve heern. Wagh ! he. ur wuss. than a Injun, for the reezun 
thet he unerstans the ways o’ the whites. I never know’d sich 
a foolish thing as ter let ’im git clur. ’Ee may r thank yur luck, 
Mister Stannafeel, thet he didn’t take yur- har^at the same 


THE WRITING ON THE MAGUEY. 


391 


time when . lie wur a-takin’ o’ yur hoss. Wagh 1 tket ye 

may 1” 

It was. Stanfield’s horse that had beemstolen by the renegade, 
and the tracks now .identified by the ranger were those of that 
animal — no-doubt with tha-freebooter upon his back. 

This new-discovery let in a flood of- light. Beyond a doubt 
the war-party was the_~same we had met by the .mound, with 
perhaps a reinforcement; thejsame that had just- plundered the 
Mexican .town ; the same who had paid their horrid visit to the 
hacienda, and this renegade 

Ha ! Strange remembrances were crowding into my brain. 
I remembered meeting this.semi-savage. skulking about the road, 
after we had granted him his . parole; I _remembered r upon one 
occasioor seeing-him while.riding.out with her; I- remembered the 
rude. -expression with-which he had .regarded -my^ompaniou — 
the glance half fierce half lustful ; I remembered that it made 
me _angry; that I, rebuked and- threatened him — I now remem- 
bered' all. 

Wild thoughts came rushing into my mind— worse thoughts 
thaaever. 

I sprang to my saddle, and calling out some half-coherent 
orders, rode rapidly along the trail. 


CHAPTER LXXYII. 

THE WRITING ON THE MAGUEY. 

The skill of the trackers was no longer called iu need. The 
war- trail was as easily followed as a toll-road. A. blind man 
could have guided himself along such a well-trodden highway. 
Our rate of speed was now ruled by the capacity of our horses 


3 9‘J 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


Alas 1 theinpower was nearly at an end. They had been two 
days and a night under the .saddle, with but a. few hours to 
refresh themselves by food or rest — they could not hold out 
much longer. 

One by one, they began to lag, until the greater number of 
them followed with tottering step hundreds of yards in the rear. 
It was in vain to contends against nature. The, men were still 
willing, though_they, too, were wearied to death ; but their 
horses were, quite done up — even, whip and . spur could force 
them.no farther. Only my. own matchless steed could have con- 
tinued the journey. Alone, I might have advanced, but that 
would have been madness. What could I have accomplished 
alone ? 

Night was fast. coming down — it was already- twilight. I .saw 
by the clouded sky we should have no moon. We might follow 
the trail with our waxen torches — not yet burned out — but that 
would no longer be safe. For myself, I was reckless enough to 
have riskecHife in any way, but the lives of my. comrades were 
not mine. I could not give them — I should not wastefully fling 
them away. 

Reluctantly, I-glided from my,saddle, gave my horse to the 
grass, and sat .down upon the. earth. My followers, coming up, 
said not a word, but,, picketing their horses, seated, themselves 
around me. One by one, they stretched themselves along the 
sward, and in, ten minutes all were asleep. 

I alone could not sleep — the fever of unrest was upon me — . 
the demon of thought would not let me close my eyes. Though 
my'orbs'ached with the long protracted vigil, I thought that not 
“ all the drowsy syrups of the world ” could have given repose 
to mynerves. I felt as-one whcusuffers under-delirium.produced 
by the Antoxicating^cup — the. fearful mania-a-potia. I could 
neithensleep nor rest. 

I could not even remain seated. I -rose to my feet and 
wandered around, without heed of where I was going, p strode 


THE WRITING ON THE MAGUEY. 


393 


over the recumbent forms of ray sleeping companions ; I went 
among the horses ; I paced backwards and forwards along the 
bank of the stream. 

There was ^stream — a small arroyo or, rivulet. It was this 
that had caused me to halt in that,particular spot ; for, wild as 
were my thoughts, I had enough of reason left to know that we 
could not^encamp without water. The sight of the arroyo had 
decided my wavering resolution ; and upon its bank, almost 
mechanically, I had drawn bridle and dismounted. 

I once more descended to the bed of the stream ; and raising 
the water in the palms of my hands, repeatedly applied it to 
my lips and temples. The cool liquid,refreshed me, and. seemed 
to soothe both my nerves and my .spirit. After a time both fel* 
calmer, and I s.at down upon the bank, and watched for a while 
the clear rivulet rippling past over its bed of yellow sand and 
glistening pebbles of jquartz. The water was perfectly diapha- 
rous ; and though the sun was no longer shining, I could sen 
tiny silver-fish, of the genus . hyodon, sporting themselves in the 
depths of the pool. How I envied them their innocent gambols 
- — their life of crystal purity and freedom ! Here in this remote 
prairie stream dwelt not the alligator, nor the ravenous,* garfish 
— here came no .dolphin or^shark to. chase them — no tyrant of 
the deep to put them iq, fear. .^Envious, indeed, such an insou- 
ciant. happy existence. 

I watched them for a long while, till I thought that my eyes 
were growing heavy, and after all I might sleep. The murmur 
of the arroyo helped to increase this propensity for repose, 
and.perhaps I might have slept ; but, at this moment, chancing 
to look around, my eyes fell upon an object that again drove 
gleep far away, and I was soon as wakeful as ever. 

Close to . my.olbow where I had seated myself, grew a large 
plant of the Mexican aloe ( agave Americana ). It was the wild 
maguey, but of a species with broad, fleshy leaves, of a dark 
green color — somewhat resembling the maguey of Cultivation 

IV* 


394 : 


THE WA E-TRAIL. 


I -noticed that one of the great blades of the, plant was bruised 
down, and the spine which had- terminated it r torn off. 

AlLthis would not have drawn my -attention. I was~already 
aware that the lndians had made a. halt where we were encamped, 
and their sign was. plenteous around, tracks of their animals, and 
the -broken branches of trees. One of their horses or mules 
might have munched at the maguey in passing ; and viewing the 
bruised blade from a distance, I should have hazarded such a con- 
jecture. But my eyes were close to th e-plant, and to mjt- aston- 
ishment, I observed that there was writing upon the leaf ! 

I turned over upon my knees, and seizing the huge blade, 
bent it down before me, so as to obtaiu a better view of its sur- 
face. I read : 

“ Captured by Comanches — a war party — have many, captives — 
women and- children — ay de mi! pobres Ninas !-±~north-west from 
this place — - saved from death, alas! I fear” 

The writing ended abruptly. There was no signature ; but it 
needed noW-that. I had no doubts about who was the "writer, 
rude as was thechirography, from the materials used. I easily 
identified the-hand. It was Isolina de Yargas-who had -Written. 

I saw that she had torn off the terminal spine, and, using it 
as a stylns, had graven those characters upon the epidermis of 
the plarrf. 

Sweet, noble spirit ! under any guise I could have recognized 
its outpouring. 

“ Saved from death 1”— thank Heaven for that ! “ Alas, I 

fear Oh, what- feared she ? Was it worse than death ?— that 
terrible fate, too terrible to think of? 

She had broken off without finishing the sentence. Why had 
she done so ? — the sheet was broad — would have held many 
more words. Why had she not written, more ? Did she dread 
to tell the cause of her fear ? or had she been interrupted by 
the approach of some of her tyrant captors ? 0 Merciful He* 

ven 1 save me from thought ! 


THE SOUTHERN SAVAGE. 


395 


1 re-read the words , over and over. I examined the other 
leaves of the . plant ; on both sides, concave and convex, I 
examined them ; there was. nothing more. Not a word more 
could I find. What I had read was all she had written. 



CHAPTER LXXYIII. 

THE SOUTHERN SAVAGE. 

I need not tell how deeply I was affected by the unexpected 
communication. All at once were decided a variety of doubts. 
All at once was* I made aware of the exact situation. 

Isolina still lived — that was no longer doubtful ; and the 
knowledge- produced joy. More than- this: she was still unin- 
jured — able to think, to act, to write — not only living, but well. 
The singular “billet” was proof. 

Another point : her hands must have been free — her hands, 
atdeast — else how could she. have traced those lines ? It argued 
indulgence, or -tender treatment, on the, part of her captors. 

Another' point yet. -iS he knew I was in pursuit. She had seen 
medhen, as I. galloped after. It was her cry I had heard as the 
horse dashed into the ehapparal. She had recognized me, and 
called back. 

She knew I would still be following. She Jtnew. I was follow- 
ing ; and for.me was the writing meant. Sweet, subtle spirit 1 

Once more I devoured the welcome words ; but my heart 
grew heavy as I pondered over them. What had. caused her 
to break off so abruptly ? What was it her intention to have 
said ? Of what was she in fear ? It was my. conjectures about 
this that, caused the heaviness upon my heart. I gave way to 
borrid imaginings. 

Naturally my thoughts reverted to her captors ; naturally ! 


396 


TIIE WAR-TRAIL. 


reflected upon the . character of the prairie savage, so different 
from that of the^ forest Indian-^-opposite as is the aspect of their 
homes, and perhaps influenced by this very cause, though there 
are many others. Climate ; contact with Spanish civilization, 
so.distinct from .Saxon ; the horse ; conquest over white foes ; 
concubinage with white and beautiful women, the daughters of 
the race of Andalusia-^all these have combined to produce in 
the. southern Indian a spiritual, existence that more resembles 
Andalusia than-England — more like to Mexico than Boston or 
New York. 

There is not so much difference between -Paris and the prai- 
ries — between the. habitue of the Bal Mabille, and the horse- 
Indian of the .plains. No cold -ascetic this — no romantic savage, 
alike. celebrated for silence andjpontinence, but a true -voluptu- 
ary, gay of -thought and free of . tongue*, amorous,. salacious, 
immoral.' In nine cases out of ten, the young Comanche is a 
boastful Lothario as any flaneur that may be- met upon the 
Boulevards ; the old, adustful sinner ; women the idol of both. 

Among-Comanches, woman is the constant theme of conversa- 
tion — their motive for every act. For them, they throw the 
prairie dice — for them, they race their swift mustangs. To win 
them, they paint in hideous guise; to buy them, they steal 
horses ; to capture them, they go to war ! 

And yet, with all their wanton love, they are true tyrants to 
the .sex. Wife they have~none ; for it would be sheer sacrilege 
t 04 *pply this-uoble title to the “squaw” of a Comanche. Mis- 
tress is_ scarce a fitter term— rather say slave. Hers is a nard 
lot,- indeed. Hers it is to hew the wood and draw the water ; 
to strike the tent and pitch it ; to lead the horse, and pack the 
dog ; to grain the* skin, and cure the meat ; to plant the maize, 
the melon, squash— -to hoe and reap them; to wait obsequious 
on her loungingiord,..anticipate his whim or wish ; be true to 
him, or4ose her-ears or nose — for such horrid forfeiture jV%v 
Comanche custom the punishment for-conjugaHnfidelity 1 


THE SOUTHERN SAVAGE. 


397 


Bat hard as is the lot of the, native wife, harder still is that 
of the white-captive. Tis-hers to endure all the ills, enumer- 
ated, with still -another — the hostility of the ‘‘squatf ” herself 
The white captive is -truly the-slave'-of a .slave — the victim of a 
treble antipathy — of race, of color, of jealousy. Ofttimes is she 
beaten, abused, mutilated; and rarely does her apathetic lord 
interfere to protect her from this feminine but iiend-like persecu- 
tion. 

These were not imaginings — they were not fancies begot in 
my own brain-*-would they had been sol Too well did I know 
they were facts — horrid realities. 

Can you wonder that sleep was shaken from my eye-lids? 
that* I could not think of rest or stay, till I had delivered my 
loved one — my betrothed — from the dangers of such a destiny? 

All thought ot sleep was banished — even weariness forsook 
me. I felt fresh as if I had slept; my nerves were strung for 
emprise. It was excitement renewed by what I had read — the 
impatience of a new and keen apprehension. 

I would have mounted and gone, forward, spurning both rest 
and sleep — regardless of danger would I have followed — but 
what could I do alone? 

Aye, and what with mv few followers? Ha! I had not 
thought of This — up to. that moment I had not put this impor- 
tant question, and I had need to reflect upon the. answer. 
What if we should overtake the band of brigands? Bootv- 
laden as they were, and cumbered with captives, surely we 
should come up with them, by night or by day; but what then? 
Aye, what then? There were nine of us, and we were in pursuit 
of a war parly of at least one hundred in number! one hundred 
braves armed and equipped for battle — the .choice warriors of 
their tribe—- flushed with late success, and. vengeful against our- 
selves onjaccount of former jdefeat. ILconquered, we need look 
for no .mercy at their hands ; if -conquered — how -could it be 
otherwise? "June against a hundred!' How could we -conquer ? 


698 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


Up to this moment I had not thought of the result — I was 
borne -Along by only, one impulse — the idea of overtaking the 
steed, and-rescuing hisjdder. It was. only within the hour that 
her peril had assumed a new phase — only an hour since we had 
learnt , that she had escaped from one . danger to be brought 
within the influence of another. 

At first had I felt joy, but the feeling was of- short existence 
I recognized in the new situation a greater peril than that she 
had outlived: she had been rescued from death to become the 
victim- ofi dishonor. 


CHAPTER LXXIX. 

A SUBTERRANEAN FIRE. 

In the midst of my meditations, night descended upon the 
earth. It-promised to be a moonless night. A robe of sable 
clouds- formed a sombre lining to the sky, and through this 
neither moon nor star were visible. 

It grew darker apace, until in the dim Kght I could scarce 
distinguish the forms of my companions — neither men nor horses 
— though hoth were near me. 

The-men were still -asleep, stretched along the grass in various 
attitudes, like so many bodies upon a battle-field. The horses 
were too- hungry to sleep — the constant “ crop-crop” told-that 
they were greedily -browsing upon the sward of granna grass 
that, by. good fortune, grew luxuriantly around. This would be 
the best rest for them, and I was glad to- think that this splen- 
did provender would, in a few hours, recruit their strength. It 
was the chondrosium pceneum — the .favorite food of horses and 
cattle, and in its -effects upon their .condition almost equal to the 
bean or the -oat. I knew it would soon freshen the jaded anl- 


A SUBTERRANEAN FIRE. 


399 


mals, and make them ready for the road. At least in this there 
was some consolation. 

Notwithstanding the .pre-occupation of my thoughts, I began 
to experience a physical -discomfort, which,- despite the low lati- 
tude, is often _felt upon the southern prairie-*rCold. A chill 
breeze had set in with the night, which in half an hour became 
a strong and.violent wind, increasing in coldness as in strength 
In that half hour the thermometer must have fallen at least 
fifty -Fahrenheit degrees — and such a phenomenon is- not rare 
upon the plains of - Texas. The - wind was the well-known 
11 norther,” which often, kills both men and ^animals, that chance 
to be exposed to its icy breath. 

I have- endured the rigor of a Canadian winter — have crossed 
the frozen^ lakes — have, slept upon a„.snow wreath amidst the 
wild wastes of Rupert’s Land, but I cannot remember cold 
moreu. intensely chilling than that I have suffered in a Texan 
norther. This extreme does not arise from the actual depression 
of the thermometer — which at best is but a poor, indicator of 
either heat or cold— I mean the,,sensation of either. It is more 
probably the .contrast arising from the sudden change — the 
exposure — the absence of . proper clothing or shelter — the state 
©f the.., blood with other like circumstances, that cause an ex- 
treme temperature to be more -sensibly felt. I had ofttimes 
experienced the -chill, blast of the norther, but never more 
acutely than upon that night. The day had been sweltering 
hot — the. thermometer at noon ranging about the one hundreth 
degree, while in the first hour of darkness it could not have been 
far above the-twentieth. Had I, judged by my sensations, I 
should have - put it- even lower — certainly it had passed the 
freezing, point, and^harp sleet and hail were borne upon the 
wings of the^wind. With~nerves~deranged from, want of rest 
and sleep-rafter the hot- day^s march— after the, perspiration 
produced by long exposure upon the heated surface of the burnt 
prairie— I perhaps felt the cold more acutely than I should 


400 


TEIE WAR-TRAIL. 


otherwise have done. My blood seemed to stagnate and freeze 
within my. veins. 

I was fain to wrap around my body a buffalo robe which some 
careless savage had dropped upon the trail. My followers were 
not so well furnished. Starting as we had done without any 
thought of being absent for the night, no preparation had been 
made for camping out. Only a few of them chanced to have 
their blankets strapped upon the can ties of their saddles. These 
were now the fortunate ones. 

The norther had roused all of them from their slumbers — had 
awaked them as suddenly as douches of cold water would have 
have-done ; and one and all were groping about in the darkness 
— some seeking for their blankets — some for such shelter as was 
afforded by the lee side of the bushes. 

Fortunately, there were saddle blankets, and these were 
soon dragged from the backs of the horses. The poor brutes 
themselves suffered equally with their owners. They stood 
cowering under the cold, with their hips to the cutting, blast, 
their limbs drawn close.- together, and their flanks shaggy and 
shining. Some- sheltered, themselves behind the Pushes, scarce 
caring to touch the .grass at their feet. 

It would have been- easy enough to make a fire — there 
was dry wood in plenty near the spot, and of the best kind 
for burning — the large species of mezquite. Some of tbe men 
were for kindling fires at once, regardless of consequences, 
but this -design was overruled by the more -prudent of the party. 
The trappers were strongly against it. Cold as was the night 
and dark, they knew that neither the norther nor the darkness 
would deter Indians from being abroad. A party might be out 
upon the prowl — the very buffalo skin we had picked up might 
bring a squad of them, back— for it was the^graud robe of 
someAvarrior, whose -whole 4ife-kistory was- delineated in hiero 
glyphicaLpainting upon. its inner-surface. To have made a fire 
might have cost us oup-lives. 


A SUBTERRANEAN FIRE. 


40 ! 


So alleged the trappers Rube and Garey. It would be 
better to endure the cold, than risk our scalps — thus counselled 
they. 

But for all that, Rube had no Jdea of bei'rg starved to death. 
He could kiudle a fire, and burn it upon an open prairie, without 
the least fear of its being seen ; and in a few minutes , time he 
had succeeded in making one, that could not have been discerned 
by the most sharp-sighted Indian in creation. 

I hard watched the operation with some interest. 

He first collected a quantity of dead leaves, dry grass, and 
short sticks of the mezquite tree — all of which he placed under 
his saddle-blanket to prevent the Tain and. sleet from wetting 
them. This done, he drew out his bowie knife, and, with the 
blade, “croned” a hole into the turf about a foot deep, and 
ten inches or a foot in diameter. In the bottom of this hole he 
placed the grass and leaves, having first ignited them by means 
of his flint, steel and “punk” tinder — all of which implements 
formed part of the contents of Rube’s pouch and possible sack 
au present. On the top of the now blazing leaves and grass, 
he placed the dry sticks, first the smaller ones and then those 
of larger dimensions, until the hole was filled up to the brim, and 
over all he laid the piece of turf originally cut from the surface, 
and which fitted as neatly as a lid. 

His furnace being now finished, the trapper “hunkered’- 
down close to its edge in such a position as to embrace the 
fire between his thighs, and have it nearly under him. He 
then drew' his old blanket over his shoulders, allowing it to 
droop behind until he had secured it under the salient points 
of his lank, angular hips. In front he passed the- blanket over 
his *knees, and Jboth~ends r reaching the ground, were griped 
tightly between his toes. 

The contrivance was complete, and there sat the old trapper 
like a .hand-glass over a plant of spring rhubarb, a slight smoke 
oozing through the apertures of his scant blanket, and curling 


402 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


up around his. “ ears,” as though he was hatching upon a hot- 
bed. But . no fire could be seen, though Rube shivered np 
longer. 

He soon found -imitators. The young trapper had already 
constructed a similar furnace, and the others were soon warming 
themselves by this simple but ingenious device. 

I did not disdain to avail myself of the. extra “shaft” which 
the kind-hearted Garey had sunk for my accommodation, and 
having placed myself by its side, and drawn the ample robe 
over my shoulders, I felt as warm as if seated in front of a sea- 
coal fire. 

Under other circumstances, I might have joined in the merri- 
ment produced in iny companions by the ludicrous - spectacle 
which we presented. A . comic spectacle indeed-^nine of us 
squatted at intervals over the ground — the blue smoke escaping 
through the 4nterstices of our .robes and. blankets, and rising 
around our.heads, as though one and all of us were on fire ! 

Wind, sleet and darkness .continued throughout the. whole 
night— cold wind, sharp.. ..icy .sleet and black darkness, that 
seemed palpable to the touch. Ever so- eager, ever so fresh, we 
could not have advance&,along the trail - Grand war-trail as it 
was, it could, not have been^ traced under that- amorphous 
obscurity, and we had no -means of carrying a., light, even had it 
been safe to do so. We vhad . no . lantern, and the norther, 
with one blast, would have whisked out a -torch of pitch-pine. 

We thought no more of going forward, until either the day 
should break, or the fierce storm should lull. 

At .midnight we replenished our fires, and remained on the 
ground. Hail, rain, wind and darkness. My companions rested 
their heads upon their knees, or nodding, slept. No sleep for 
me— -not even the repose of- thought. Like some fevered sufferer 
on his wakeful couch, I counted the lours — the- minutes. The 
minutes seemed hours. 

Rain, hail, -sleet and wind seemed like darkness itself to belong 


A RED EPISTLE. 


403 


to the night. A& long as night lasted, soJong continued they.. 
When it came to an end, all vanished -together — the norther had 
exhausted its strength. 

A wild jturkey, killed before .nightfall, with some steaks of the 
peccary^pork, furnished_us with an ample, breakfast. It was 
hastily cooked, and hastily eaten ; and as the first streaks of 
dawmappeared aloug the Jiorizon, we were in our saddles, and 
advancing -upon the- trail. 


CHAPTEK L X X X . 

A RED EPISTLE. 

The trail led northwest, as. written upon the maguey. No 
doubt she had .heard her. captors forespeak their plans. I knew 
that she herself understood something of the Comanche lan- 
guage. The^.aecomplishment may appear strange, and not 
strange either when it is known that with her it was a native 
tongue. Her mother could have spoken it well. 

But, .even without this knowledge she might still have learnt 
the designs of the savages — for these southern Comanches are 
accomplished linguists — many of them can speak the beautiful 
language of. Andalusia. There was a . time when a. portion of 
the tribe -submitted to the -teaching of the mission padres ; a 
few nmong them -might even boast — which they, do -not — of 
Iberian-Holeod 1 

No doubt, -isollna in their midst had overheard them discuss- 
ing their projects. 

We had -ridden about two hours, when we came upon the 
ground where the Indians had. made their- night camp. 

We approached it -warily and withustealth, for*we were now 
travelling with greet -caution. We had .need. Should a single 
savage, straying behind, set eyes upon us we .might as well be 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


40 i 

seen by the. whole band. If discovered upon the war-trail, our 
lives would not be worth much. Some of us might escape ; but 
at least our plan would be completely frustrated. 

I say plan, for I had formed one. During the long vigil of 
the night my thoughts had not been idle, and a course t)f action 
I had traced out, though it was not yet fully developed in my 
mind. Circumstances might alter it or aid me in its execution. 

We approached their night encampment then, warily and with 
stealth. The smoke of its smouldering fires pointed out the 
places, and warned us from afar. We found it quite deserted, 
the gaunt wolf and coyotes slone occupying the ground, disput- 
ing with each other possession of the hide and bones of a horse, 
the debris of the Indian breakfast. 

Kad we not known already, the trappers could have- told by 
the sign of the camp to what tribe the Indians belonged. 

There were still standing the poles of a tent — oniy one — doubt- 
less the lodge of the head chief. The poles were temporary 
ones— saplings, cut from the adjacent thicket. They were placed 
in a circle, and meeting at the top, were tied together with a 
piece of thong, so that when covered, the lodge would have 
exhibited the form of a perfect' cone. This we knew was the 
fashion of the Comanche tent. 

“ Ef’t hed a been Kickapoo,” said Rube, who took thp oppor- 
tunity of displaying his knowledge, “ thu’d a bent thur‘ poles 
in’ard, so’s to make a sort o’ a roun top ► jd’ee see, an’ ef ’t hed a 
been W acoes or Witcheetees they’d a left a hole at the lop to 
let out thur smoke. Delawurs and Shawnee wud a hed tents 
Jest like whites, but thet ar ain’t thur way o’ makin’ a fire. In 

Shawnee -fire the logs wud a been laid in, one end turned in, 
and the tother turned out, jest like the star on a Texan flag, or 
the spokes o’ a wheel. Likeway&.Cherokee an’ Choctaw wud a 
hed reglar tents, but thur fire wud a been alser diflPrunt. 
They’d a sot the logs parallel, side by side, an’ lit em only at 
one end, an’ then pushed em up as fast as they burn’d. That’s 


A RED EPISTLE. 


405 


hyur 


thur way. Ee see these hyur logs is sot jdiff’rint, thur lit in the 
middle, an* thet’s Kimanch for sartiut it ur.” 

Rube’s knowledge extended farther. The savages had been 
astart as nearly as jourselves. They had. decamped about day- 
light, and were now exactly , two hours»ahead of us on the., trail 
Why were they travelling so.rapidly ? Not from fear of pursuit 
by an enemy. The soldiers of Mexico — had they regarded these 
• — were too- busy with the Saxon .foe, and vice versa. They could 
hardly be expecting us to make an expedition to rob them of 
their captives. Perhaps they were driving forward to be in time 
for the great herds ofjbulfalo that, along with the cold weather, 
might now be looked for in the north of the Comanche range. 
This was the explanation of the trappers — most probably the 
true one. 

Under the influence of singular emotions I rode over the 
ground. There were other signs beside those of the savage ; 
signs of the plunder with which they were laden. Signs of civili- 
zation. There were, fragments of broken cups, and musical 
instruments ; torn leaves of- books ; remnants of dresses, silks 
and velvets ; a small satin slipper (the peculiar chaussure of the 
Mexican -manola — upon whose-foou worn ?) side by side with 
a worn-out, mud-stained moccasin — fit emblems of savage and 
civilized Jive. There was no time for speculating on. such a 
curious, confusion. I was looking for signs of her^-for traces of 
my betrothed. I cast around me inquiring. glances. 

Where was it probable she had passed the. night ? Where ? 

Involuntarily my eyes rested upon the naked poles — the tent 
of thexhief. How could it be.x>therwise ? Who among all the 
captives liko-her ? grandly beautiful, to satisfy the eye even of a 
savage-chieftain — grandly r magnificently beautiful, how could she 
escape h ul, notice ? There in his lodge, shrouded under the 
brown skin of buffaloes, under hideous, devices— in the arms of a 
painted, red-bedaubed savage— his arms, brown and greasy— 
embraced— oh l — 


406 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


“ Young fellur ! I arn’t mucli o’ a skoller, but I’d - stake a 
park o’ -beaver pie w agin a plug o’ Jeemes’ River tfiat tfiis hyur 
manerscrip„war entended for yurself, and nob’dy else. Thur’s 
writin’ upon it, thet’s clur, an’ mighty lieuVousJnk, I reck’n, thet 
ur. Oncest on a time I kud a read, write or print eyethur, as 
easy as failin’ cff a log — for thur wur a Yankee fellur on Duck 
Crick that kep a pretty consid’able school thur, and the ole 
’oman, that ur Mrs. Rawlins, hed this child put thro’ a reglar 
coorse o’ the Testymint. I remembers readin’ ’bout thet ur 
cussed nigger as touted the possible-sack — Jndeas, ef I recollex 
right, wur the durned- raskul’s name — ef I kud a laid claws on 
him, I’d a raised his-har in the shakin’ o’ ar goat’s tail. Wagh 1 
thet I wud.” 

Rube’a indignation against the- betrayer having, reached its 
climax, brought his speech to a termination. 

I had not waited for its finale. The object which he held 
between his fingers had more interest for me than either the 
history of his own early days, or the-story of the betrayer. It 
was a paper — a note — actually folded, and addressed, “ War- 
field 1” He had found it upon the grass, close to where the 
tent had stood, and held in the crotch of a split stick, the other 
end of which was stuck into the ground. 

No wonder the trapper had remarked upon the ink. Thera 
was no mistaking the character of that lurid red. Th$ writing 
was in blood ! 

Hastily unfolding the paper, I read : 

“Henri ! I am still-safe, but in dread of a sad- fate — the fate 
of the poor white captive, among these, hideous men. Last 
night I feared it, but the Yirgin shielded me. It has not come. 
Oh ! I shall not -submit. I shall die by mv own hand. A 
strange chance has hitherto saved me from this horrid- outrage. 
No 1 it was not chance, but Heaven that interposed. Itisbhus: 
Two of my captors claim me — one the sou of the chief— t*ia 


MORE WRITING IN RED. 


407 


"Otl^er, the wretch to whom you- granted life and freedom. 
Would to God it had been otherwise 1 Of the two, he of white 
blood is the-viler savage — bad — brutal — a very demon. Both 
took part in capture of the steed — therefore both claim me as 
their ‘ property.’ Tho claim is mot yet adjusted, hence have I 
been .spared ; but, alas ! I fear myJiour is nigh. A council is 
to be held that will decide to. which of these monsters I am to 
be . given. If to -either, it is a horrid fate ; if to neither, a doom 
still more horrible-^-perchance you know their- custom. I 
should be common property — the. victim of all. Dios de mi 
(ilma ! Never^-never ! Death-*— welcome death ! 

“Fear not, Henri, lord of my heart ! fear not that I shall dis- 
honor, your love — mo-T-sacred in my breast its purity shall be 
preserved — even at the. sacrifice of my life. I shall bathe it ia 
the blood of my heart. Ah me I my. heart is bleeding now I 
They come to drag me away. Farewell V farewell !” 

Such were the contents of the page — the fly leaf of a Wrc 
missal. Upon the -other side was a -vignette — a pictuie of 
Dolores, the weeping_saint of Mexico I Had it been -chosen, the 
emblem could_scarce have been more, appropriate. 

1 thrust the.red writing into my bosom, and without v aitiqg 
to exchange a word with my companions, pressed forward upon 
the trail. 


CHAPTER LXXXI. 

MORE WRITING IN RED. 

The men followed as. before. I needed no trackers to show 
the way. The path was _ plain as a driver’s- road — a- thousand 
horses had made their mark upon the ground. ' 

We rode at a regular pace— not rapidly. I was in- no hurry 


408 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


to come up with the savages. I desired not to get sight of 
them before nightfall. It would be better not— lest they might 
also get sight of us. 

The plan I proposed to myself for the rescue of my be- 
trothed could not be accomplished in the day. Darkness 
alone could avail me in carrying it out, and for nightfall must 
I wait. 

We could easily have overtaken the savages before night. 
They were, but. two short-hours in advance, and would be 
certain, as is their custom on the war-trail, to make a noon 
halt of several hours’ duration. Even Indian horses require 
to be rested. 

We .calculated the rate at which they were travelling — how 
many niles to the hour ; the prairie men could tell to a furlong 
both the gait and the distance. The tracks of the poor cap- 
tives were still seen along the trail. This showed that theparty 
could not have been going faster than a walk. 

The prairie-men alleged there were many horses without riders 
— led or driven — many -mules too — the product of the foray. 
Why^were the poor „captives~not permitted to ride them ? 

Was it sheer cruelty, or brutaL~4udifference, on the part of 
their captors ? Did the inhuman monsters- gloat over the suf- 
ferings of these unfortunates, and deny them even the -alleviation 
of physical pain ? The affirmative answer to all these questions 
was probably the true one — since hardly better-^no better in- 
deed — is the behavior of these savages towards the women of 
their own blood and kind — the squaws. 

Talk not to me of the^moble- savage, of the simplicity and 
gentleness of that condition falsely termed a state of nature. It 
is -not nature. God meant not man to be a wild Ishmaelite on 
the_ face of the earth. Man was- made- for civilization — for 
society r and only under its influence does he- assume the form 
and grace of true nobility. Leave him ta himself — to the-play 
of his- instincts-^to the indulgence of evil impulses, and man 


MOKE WRITING IN RED. 


409 


becomes a„brute — a beast of prey. Even worse, for wolf and 
tiger gently consort with their kind, and still more, gently with 
theiiufamily. They feel the tenderness of a family tie. Where 
is the savage upon., all the earth who does not usurp dominion — 
who does not practise the meanest tyranny on his weaker 
mate? Where -can you-fiud him? Noton the blood-stained 
Karroos of Africa — not upon the forest.plains of the Amazon — 
not by theLiey shores of the Arctic Sea — certainly not on the 
prairie of-North America. 

Na man can be noble who would, in wrath, lay his finger upon 
weaker, woman ; talk not then of the- noble savage— fancy of 
poets— miy th of romance ! 

The tracks of riderless^horses, the footsteps of walking women, 
tender girls and children, , upon that tiresome .trail, had for me a 
cruel significance — those slender tiny tracks of pretty feet — 
pobres nines ! 

There was one that fixed my attention more than the rest 
Every now and tnen my eyes were upon it. I fancied I $ v ouId 
identify it. It was exactly the size, I thought. The perfect 
symmetry and. configuration — the oval curve of the heel — high 
instep — the row of small graduated globes, made by the impres- 
sion of the toes — the smooth surface left by the imprint of the 
delicate epidermis-^-all these points seemed to characterize the 
footprints of a lady. 

Surely it could not be- hers ? Surely she would not be- toiling 
along that weary track ? Cruel as were the hearts of her cap- 
tors — hrutal as were their, natures, surely they would notlnflict 
this unnecessary pain. Beauty like hers should command kind 
treatment — should inspire- compassion even in the breast of a 
savage 1 Alas ! I deemed ikdoubtful. 

We rode, slowly on, not desirous of overtaking the foe, we 
were-allowing them time to depart from their noon resting-place. 
We might as weH have stopped for a while, but I could not 
submit to the repose of a halt. Motion, however slow, ap- 
i 18 


410 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


peared progress ; and in some measure. hindered me from dwell- 
ing upon, thought, that only produced useless pain. 

Notwithstanding the. incumbrance. of their spoils, the Indians 
must have been travelling faster than we. They had no fear of 
foes to retard them, naught to require either spies or caution. 
They were now in their_x>wn. country, in the very heart of the 
Comanche_rauge, and in dread of no enemy. They were moving 
fresher, and. without fear. We on the contrary had to keep our 
scouts in the._advance. Every bend of the road had to be re- 
connoitred by them, every-bush examined, every swell of the 
ground approached with extreme care and watchfulness. 

These manoeuvres occupied time, and we moved slowly 
enough. 

It was after midday when we arrived at the noon camp of the 
savages. They had kindled fires and cooked flesh. The smoke, 
as before^ warned us, and. approaching under cover, we perceived 
that they weregone. The bones, clean-picked, were easily iden- 
tified, and told that the midday meal had made no change in 
the diet of these hippophagists, dinner and dejeuner had been 
alike drawn from the same larder. 

Again I searched the ground ; but as before, the eyes of the 
trapper proved. better than mine. 

“Hyur’s a other billet dux, young fellur,” said he, handing 
me the paper. 

Another leaf from the missal ! 

I seized it eagerly — eagerly ^devoured its contents. This 
time they were more brief : 

“ Once more I open my veins. The council meets to-night. In 

a few hours it will be ^decided whose property 1 am — whose- slave 

whose— & — Santisima Maria ! 1 cannot write the word. I shall at- 
tempt to., escape. They leave my hands free, but my limbs are tight 
bound with thongs. I have tried to undo my fastening , but cannot. 
Oh , if I had but ctr knife l I know where one is kept — a keen blade , 


AN INJUN ON THE BACK TRACK. 411 

/ may contrive to. seize it, bui it must be in the last moment It 

will not do to fail. Henri , I am firm and resolute. I do noi 
meld to despair, one way or other. 1 shall free myself from the 
hideous*, embrace of -*■ — They come — the villain watches me ! I 
must v 

The writing ended- abruptly. Her jailers had interrupted 
her. The paper had. evidently been . concealed from them in 
haste. It had been suddenly, crumpled up and flung upon the 
grass, for so . was it when found. ***** 

We remained for a while upon the spot to. rest and refresh 
our horses. The poor brutes needed both. There was water 
at the place, and that, might not be met with again. 

The sun was far down when we resumed our march — our last 
march along tho war-trail. 


CHAPTER LXXXII. 

AN INJUN ON THE BACK TRACK. 

We had advanced about a mile farther when our. scouts, who, 
as usual, had gone forward to reconnoitre, having ascended a 
swell of the prairie, were observed crouching behind some bushes 
that , grew upon its crest. We all drew bridle to await the 
result of their reconnoissance. The peculiar attitude in which 
they had placed - themselves, the apparent -earnestness with 
which they. glanced over the bushes, led us to believe that some 
object was before their eyes of more than common interest. 

So it proved. We had scarcely halted, when they were seen 
to retire suddenly from the bushes, and rising erect, run at full 
speed back down the hill — at the same time making signals to 
ns to conceal both ourselves and our horses. 

Fortunately, there was timber near, and in a few seconds, we 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


±12 

had all ridden into it, taking the horses of the trappers along 
with us. 

The-declivity of the hill enabled the scouts to run with swift- 
ness ; and they were among the trees almost as soon as we. 

“ What is.it ?” inquired several in a breath. 

“.Injun on the back track,” replied the panting trappers. 

“ Indians ! — how many of them ?” naturally asked one of the 
rangers. 

“Who sayed. Injuns ? I sayed arlnjun,” sharply reterted 
Itube. “ Dam yur- palaver 1 thur’s no time fur yur- waggun. 
Git yur rope ready, Bill — ’ee durned greenhorns, keep down 
yur guns— -shootiu’ wont do hyur — yu’d- hev the hul gang back 
in the flappin’ o’ a beaver’s tail. Let Bill -rope the~jiiggur an’ 
the -young fellur hyur — he.-knows how — an’ ef- both shed miss 
’im, I aint a gwine. ’Eehear me, fellurs ? — don’t ne’er a one o’ 
ye fire — ef a gun ur wanted, Targuts ’ll be surficient, I guess— 
but for yur lives don’t a fire them ur-blunderbusses o! yourn till 
I miss — they’d be heerd ten mile off. Beady ur yur -rope, Billee? 
you, young fellur ? Albright, mind your e^es both, and snare 
the durned„ niggur like a swamp rabbi?. : ~ v "'5anner heroines, by 
the jumpin’ Geehosophat !” 

The pithy chapter of instructions above detailed, was deliv- 
ered in far less time than it may take to read it. The speaker 
never paused till he had uttered the final emphatic- shibboleth, 
which was one of his favorite phrases of embellishment. 

At the same instant, I saw just appearing above the crest 
of the ridge the head and shoulders of a savage. In a few 
seconds more, thejbody was in sight, and then thighs and. ld^s, 
with a large piebald mustang between them. I need scarcely 
add, that the -horse was going at a_ gallop. It is a rare smht 
when a horse-Indian rides any . other gait. 

There was only one. The scouts were sure of this. Beyond 
the swell stretched an open prairie, and if the Indian had had com- 
panions or followers, they would have been seen. He was alone 


AN INJUN ON THE BACK TRACK. 


413 


What had-brought himJback upon the trail ? Was he upon 
thereout? No — he was riding, without thought, and without 
precaution. A scout would have acted otherwise. He might 
have been a. messenger, hut whither, bound ? Surely the Indiana 
had left.no party in our.rear 1 

Quick these- inquiries .passed among us, from mouth to mouth, 
and quick -conjectures wero offered ia answer. The voyageur 
gave the most probable solution. 

“ Pe„gar 1 he go back for ze^-sheet” 

“ Shield ! whaLshield ?” 

“ Ah ! you no-see im. I seo-’im wis-me eyes — he vas cachd 
dans lesiierbes — vondarge sheel — bouclier trea gros — fabrique 
from za-peau of de-buffle, ze. parfleche, et garni avec les scalps, 
— frais et sanglants-^scalps Mexicains. Mon dieu 1” 

The explanation was understood. Le Blanc had observed a 
ehielcf'limong the -bushes where we had halted, like enough left 
behind by some of the. braves. It was garnished with. -scalps — 
fresh Mexican -scalps — like, enough the .Iudian had forgotten 
both his armor and his trophies. He was on his way to recover 
them. Like enough. 

There was no time either for farther talk or conjecture. The 
red horseman. had reached the bottom of the hill, in ten seconds 
more he would be lazoed or shot. 

Garey and I placed ourselves on .opposite sides of the path — 
both with our lazoes coiled and ready. The trapper was an 
adept in the use of this singular weapon, and I too understood 
something of its manege. The trees were, somewhat in our way, 
and would have prevented the proper winding of it, but it was 
our intention to spur-clear of the timber, the. moment the Indian 
came within range, and “rope” him on the run. 

Rube-crouched behind Garey, rifle in hand, and the rangers 
were also ready in case both the. lazoes and Rube’s rifle should 
miss. 

It would not do to let the Indian either go on or go back 


414 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


In either case he woulcLreport us. Should he pass the spot 
where we were, he would observe our tracks in a minute’s time, 
even amidst the thousands of others, and would be certain to 
return by another route. Should hejescape from us and gallop 
back, still _jworse. He must not be permitted either to go or? 
or go back. He must be captured or killed 1 

For my part, I desired that the former should be his destiny. 
I had no feeling of.revenge to gratify by taking the life of this 
red man, and had_ his capture not been absolutely, necessary to 
our own safety, I should- willingly have. let him come and go as 
he listed. 

Some of my comrades were actuated by different motives ; 
killing a..Comanche Indian was, in their creed, no greater crime 
than killing a wolf, a panther, or a grizzly bear ; and it was not 
from any . motives of mercy that the trapper had cautioned 
others to hold their fire. Prudence- alone-directed the advice. 
TheA’eports of the guns might be heard. 

Through the. leaves I looked upon the . savage as he ad- 
vanced. A fine looking fellow he was, and no^doubt.oue of the 
first, warriors of his tribe. What his face was I could not see, 
for the war paint disfigured it with hideous devices ; but his 
body was large, his chest- broad and full, his limbs symmetrical, 
and well turned to the very toes. He sat his horse like a Cen- 
taur. 

I had no opportunity for prolonged observation. Without 
hesitating, the Indian galloped up. 

I sprung my horse clear of the timber. I wound the lazo 
round my head, and hurled it towards the savage. I saw the 
noose settling over his shoulders, even down to his- hips. 

I spurred in the opposite direction. I felt the quick jerk, 
and the_taut rope told me I had secured the victim. 

I turned in my saddle-and glanced back. I saw the rope of 
Garey around the .neck of the Indian's mustang, tightened and 
holding him fast. Horse and horseman—both were ours ! 


CAPTURING A COMANCHE. 


415 


CHAPTER LXXXIII. 

CAPTURING A COMANCHE. 

The savage did not_yield himself up. without resistance. Re- 
sistance with an Indian is instinctive, as with a wild animaL 
He flung himself from his horse, and drawing his knife, with a 
single cut severed the thong that bound him. 

In another instant he would have been oil among the bushes, 
bat before he could move from the spot, half a dozen strong 
arms were around him, and in spite of his struggles, and the 
dangerous thrusts of his long Spanish knife, he was “ choked ” 
down and held fast. * 

My followers were for making short work with him. More 
than one had bared their blades to finish him upon the spot — 
and would have done so had I not interfered. I was averse to 
spilling his blood, and at my command, or entreaty, his life was 
spared. 

To prevent him from giving us farther trouble, however, we 
tied -him to a tree, in such a manner that he could not possibly 
free himself. 

The mode of securing him was suggested by Stanfield, the 
backwoodsman. It was. simple and safe. A tree was. chosen 
whose. trunk was large enough to fill the. embrace of the savage, 
so that th emends of his fingers scarce met when his arms were 
drawn to their full stretch around it ; upon his wrists thongs of 
raw hide were firmly knotted, and then tied together. His 
ankles were also bound by similar, cords, the ends of which were 
staked, so as to* hinder him from worming around the tree, and 
perchance - wearing off his fastenings, or chafing them so that 
they might break. 


410 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


TheJigature was perfect. The most expert jail-breaker could 
not have -freed himself from such a binding. 

It was ourdntention to leave him thus, and perhaps set him 
free upon our return, if we should return by that way — a doubt- 
ful Jiypo thesis. 

I thoughtjnot at tho^ime of the.cruelty we were, committing. 
We had-.spared the Indian’s life — a - mercy at the moment, and 
1 was too much concerned about the future of others to waste 
reflection on his; We had taken theiprecaution to place him at 
somejdistance from the trail. Others of his party might come 
after and. discover him soon enough to interfere with our plans. 
His prison had been chosen far off in the depth of the woods. 
Even his jshouts could not have been heard by any one passing 
along the trail. 

He was not to be left entirely alone. A horse was to be his 
companion — nf>t..his own, for- one of the rangers had fancied an 
exchange. Stanfield, not well mounted* proposed a “ swap,” as 
he jocoselyAermed it, to which the^savage had no^ alternative 
butjsonsent; and the Kentuckian, having “.hitched ” his worn 
out. mag to a tree* led off the skew-bald mustang in triumph, 
declaring that he was now “ squar wi’ the Indyens.” Stanfield 
would have .liked it better had the “swap” been made with the 
renegade- who had robbed him. 

We were., about to leave the place and move on, when -a bright 
idea, suddenly came into my head. It occurred to me that I, 
too, might effect a profitable exchange with our new-made, cap- 
tive— a swap, not of horses, but of men — in short, an exchange 
of persons — ofidentities ! 

In. truth, a brighj, idea it was, and one that promised- well. 

I have said that I hacLalready conceived a. plan for the res 
cue of my betrothed. I had done , so during the - night, and ad 
along the .route in my mind I had been maturing it. 

Thejncident that had just transpired had given-rise to a host 
of newjdeas. one above all that promised to aid me in facilitat 


CAPTURING A COMANCHE. 


417 


mg the execution of my design. The capture of the savage, 
which had at first given me uneasiness, I now regarded in a very 
different light — as a fortunate circumstance. I could not. help 
thiukingjthat I recognized in it the finger of Providence, and the 
thought inspired me with hope. I felt that I was not forsaken. 

The. plan I had proposed to myself was simple enough. It 
would require more oLcourage than stratagem; but to the for- 
mer I was sufficiently nerved by the desperate, circumstances in 
which we had become involved. I proposed to enter the Indian 
camp in the night — of course by stealth and under cover of dark- 
ness — to find the-captive, set her limbs free, and then trust to 
chance for the after-escape of both of ns. 

If once inside the -encampment, and within reach of her, a 
sudden coup might, accomplish all .this. Success was not beyond 
possibility, nor probability neither — and the circumstances ad- 
mitted of no plan that promised so fairly. 

To have attemptedffight with my few followers against such 
a . host — to have, attacked the Indian camp, even under the ad- 
vantage of an alarm — would have been -sheer madness. It must 
have resulted not only in my own immediate defeat, but would 
have destroyed our last chance of jescuing the captive. The 
savages once, alarmed and warned, could never be approached 
again. Isolina would be-lost for ever. 

Mv followers agreed with me upon the imprudence of an 
attack. Folly they termed it; not from any motives of fear : 
they were willing to risk all, and had I so ordered, would have 
charged with me, rifle in hand, into the very midst of the ene- 
my’s lines. I .knew they would, every man of them. Even the 
voyageur, the least brave of .my party, would not have flinched, 
for in the midst of brave men, cowards, cease to be. 

But such a-course would indeed have beemfolly-^madness, 
we thought, not of adopting it; all approved of the plan I had 
formed, and what I had already set before them as we tarried 
Jfiy the noon halting-place. 


18 * 


418 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


Several had volunteered to be my companions— to venture 
along with me into the-camp of the. savages, to_ share with me 
the-*extreme*-of the-danger; but for several reasons I was* deter- 
mined to gojilone. Should even- one ofithem bejalong with me, 
I saw it would- double the risk of detection. Stratagem, not 
strength, was needed; and speed in the last moments would be 
worth both. 

Of course I did not expect to get the captive clear without 
being observed and pursued. That would have been preposter- 
ous. She .would be too well watched by savages — not only by 
her jailers, but by the jealous , eyes of those rival., claimants of 
her body. 

No, on the contrary I anticipated, pursuit — close and eager; 
it might be^strife; but I trusted to my own swiftness of foot, 
and to-hers — for well knew I the bold heart and -free limb — it 
was no helpless burdeu I should have to bring away. 

I trusted to my being able to baffle their pursuit — to keep 
them back while she ran forward. For that purpose I should 
have with me my knife and revolvers. I trusted to these, and 
much to chance, or perhaps I should rather say, ta God. My 
cause was good — my heart firm and hopeful. 

Other precautions I intended to take. Horses ready, as near 
as they might be brought-^-men also ready seated in their sad- 
dles, rifle in hand, ready for fight or flight. 

Such was the enterprise upon which I was resolved. Success 
or death the issue. If not successful, I cared not to survive it. 


U PAINTING* 1JNJJN.” 


4iy 


CHAPTER LXXXI Y. 

** PAINTING INJUN.’’ 

Withal, I was not reckless. If not sanguine, I was far from 
despondent ; and as L continued to dwell upon it, the prospect 
seemed to brighten, and success became less problematical. 

One of the chief difficulties I would have to encounter, would 
be .gettingJnto the camp. Once, inside the lines — that is, among 
the- camp-fires and tents, if there should be any — I would be 
comparatively safe. This I knew from experience; for it would 
not be my first visit to an encampment of prairie Indians. Even 
in the midst, mingling with the savages themselves, and under 
the light of their glowing fires, I should be- less exposed to the 
danger of- detection than while, attempting to . cross their lines. 
First, there might be out-lying pickets; then, within these, the 
horse-guards; and within these again, the horses themselves ! 

You may smile, when I assert that the last was to me a source 
of apprehension as great as either of the others. An Indian 
horse is a sentineL-not to be despised. He is as much tho 
enemy of the .white man as his -master; and, partly from fear 
and partly from actual antipathy, he will not permit the former 
to approach him. The human watcher may be negligent — may 
sleep upon his post — the mustang never. The smell of a white 
man, or the sight of a skulking form, will cause him to snort and 
neigh — so that a whole camp will, either be stampeded or put 
upon the alert in a few minutes. Many a well-planned attack 
has been defeated by the warning snort of the sentinel-horse. 

It is not that the prairie-horse feels any peculiar attachment 
for the Indian. Strange if he-did— since tyrant more cruel Tfe 


420 


THE WAR-TIiATTi. 


the. equine race does not exist — no driver more severe, no rider 
morg_hard, than a horse-Indian. It is simply the faithfulness 
which the noble animal exhibits for his- companion and master, 
with the instinct which Jells him when that -master is menaced 
by danger. He will do the same service for a. white as for a red 
man; and often, does the weary .trapper take his lone rest, with 
full confidence that the vigil will be faithfully kept by his horse. 

Had there been dogs in the Indian camp, my apprehensions 
would have been still more-acute; the danger would have been 
more tha$ doubled. Even, within the-lines these cuuning brutes 
would have-known me as an enemy. The disguise of garments 
would not avail. By the scent, an Indian dog can at once tell 
the~white from the red man, and they appear to hold a, real 
antipathy against the., race of the Saxon. Even in- time of 
truce, a white man entering an Indian camp can scarce be pro- 
tected from the .wolfish -pack. 

I knew -there _were-no dogs — we saw ..tracks of- none. The 
Indians had^been. on the^war- trail, and.when they-proceed on 
these, grand expeditions, their dogs, like their women, are left 
“at horae..’ , I had reason to be thankful that such was their 
custom. 

Of course, it was my intention to go disguised. It would 
have been .madness to have gone otherwise. In the darkest 
night my uniform would have betrayed me; necessarily, in my 
search for the captive I should be led within the light of the 
fires. 

It was my design, therefore, to counterfeit the Indian costume, 
and .how to do this had been for some time the,, subject of my 
reflections. I had been congratulating myself on the possession 
of the .buffalo-robe. That would go far towards the disguise j 
but .other articles were wanting to complete my costume. The 
leggings and moecassins; the plumei.head-dress and neck-orna- 
ments; the long, straggling locks; the bronze complexion of 
arms and breast; the piebald face of chalk, charcoal, and ver 


“ TAINTING INJUN.” 42* 

mil ion— where were all these to be obtained? Therj"was - no 
costumerie in the desert. 

In the moment of excitement that succeeded the capture of 
the savage, I had been -thinking of other things. It was only 
when we were about to part from him that the idea jumped into 
my mind — that bright idea ! — that he could furnish me — the 
yery- man. 

I turned back to reconnoitre his -person. Dismounting, I 
scanned Jiim from head to foot. With delight my eyes- rested 
upon his buckskin leggings — his bead-embroidered moccasins — • 
his pendent collar of javali tusks — his eagle plumes, stained red — • 
and the ample robe of jaguar-skins that draped his back — all 
pleased me much. 

But that we were bent on an errand of peril, the last would 
not have been left there. My followers had eyed it with avidity, 
and more tlianjone of them had been desirous of- removing it ; 
but proximate peril had damped the ardor for spoil, and the 
splendid robe had been-permitted to remain, where so gracefully 
it hung, upon the. shoulders of the savage. , It soon replaced 
the. buffalo-robe upon mine. My boots were cast, aside, and 
my legs encased in the scalp-fringed leggings ; my hips were 
swathed in the leathern “ breech-clout,” and my feet thrust 
into the foot-gear of the Comanche, which, by good fortune, 
fitted to a hair. 

There was yet much -required to make me an Indian. Coman- 
ches upon the war-trail go naked from the waist upward. The 
tunic jshirt is only worn upon the hunt, or on ordinary occasions. 
How was I to counterfeit the copper skin ? the bronzed arms 
and shoulders — the mottled breast — the face of red, and white, 
and black ? Paint only could aid me, and where was paint to 
be procured ? The black we could imitate with gunpowder, 
but 

“Wagh!” ejaculated Rube, who was seen holding in his 
hands a wolf-skin, prettily trimmed and garnished with quills 


£22 


THE WAR TRAIL. 


and beads. It was the .medicine-bag of the. Indian. “Wagh! 
I thort we’d .find the meteerils in the. niggur’s possible-sack j 
hyur they, be.” 

Rube had dived his hand to the bottom of the embroidered 
bag ; and, while, speaking, drew it triumphantly forth. Several 
little leathern packets appeared between his. fingers, which,, from 
their .stained outsides, evidently contained pigments of various 
colors, while a small, shining object in their midst proved, on 
closer inspection, to be a looking-glass 1 

Neither the. trapper nor myself were astonished at finding 
these odd.“ notions” in such a place. On the. contrary, it was 
natural we. should have looked for them. Seldom in peace, but 
never in time of. war, does the Indian ride abroad- without his 
rouge and his. mirror ! 

The, colors were of the, right sort, and corresponded exactly 
with those that glistened upon the skin of the captive warrior. 

Under the keen edge of a bowie, my moustache came off in a 
twinkling. A little grease was, procured ; the _paints were 
mixed ; and. placing myself side by side with the Indian, I stood 
for his portrait. Rube was the painter ; a piece of . soft buck- 
skin his brush ; the broad palm of Garey his palette. 

~ The operation did not last a great while. In twenty minutes 
it was all over, and the Indian brave and I appeared the exact 
counterpart of each other. Streak bymtreak, and spot by spot, 
had the old trapper imitated those hideous hieroglyphics, even to 
the red-hand upon the„ breast, and the- cross upon the.brow. In 
horrid aspect, the copy quite equalled the. original. 

One thing was still lacking — an -important- element in the 
metamorphosis of jdisguise. I wanted the long,, snaky,, black 
tressesjthat adorned the-head of the -Comanche. 

The want was soon supplied. Again the bowie-blade was 
called upon to serve as scissors; and with Garey to perform the 
tonsorial feat, the.jchevelure of the Indian was shorn of its flow 
ing glories. 


4 ‘23 


The savage_ winced as the keea blide. glistened around his 
brow. He had norther thought jthan that he was about to be 
scalped --alive I 

“JTaint the way I’d -raise his-har, the dod rotted niggur I 
Fotch the hide along wi’ it, Bill ! it’ll ..save bother ; ee’ll hev to 
make a wig ef-^ee don’t. _ Skin ’im,~durn ’im 1” 

Of course, .Garey did not-give heed to the cruel counsel, which 
hejknew was not meant for earnest. 

A rude “.scratch” was soon ^constructed, and, being placed 
upon my head, was, attached to my own waving locks. Fortu- 
nately, these were of a«dark color, and the-hue corresponded. 

I fancied L-saw the Indian- smile, when he perceived the . use 
we were making of his splendid -tresses. It was a^grim smile, 
however; and from the iirst moment to the last, neither word 
nor-ejaculation escaped from his lips. 

Even I was forced tCLsmile. I could notjestrain myself. The 
odd travesty in which we wera engaged, the strange commingling 
of the comic and serious in the act, and, above all, the ludicrous 
look of the captive-Iudian after they had close cropped him, was 
enough to make a stone smile. My comrades could not restrain 
themselves, but laughed outright. 

The plume-bonnet was now placed on my head. It was fortu- 
nate the brave had one — for this magnificent headdress is rarely 
worn on a war-expedition-^fortunate, for it aided, materially in 
concealing the, counterfeit. The. false hair could hardly have 
been detected, even under the light of day. 

There was no more to be done. The painter, hair-dresser, 
and costumier had performed their several offices. I was ready 
for the ma?<gerade. 


THE WAK-TKAIL. 


m. 


CHAPTER LXXXV. 

THE LAST HOURS ON THE TRAIL. 

MoKt, cautiously than ever, we now crept a^ng the-trail-^ad- 
vancing only .after the ground had been thorough^ _ quartered M 
by the scouts. Time was of the least, consequence. The fresh 
sign of the Indians, told us they, were but a short way ahead of 
us. We could have ridden within sight of them at any moment. 

We did not wish to set eyes upon them before sunset. It 
could be^rio advantage to overtake them on the march — but the 
contrary. Some lagging Indian might be found in the rear of 
the band ; we might come in contact with him, and thus defeat 
all our-designs. 

We hung back, therefore, allowing. time for the savages to 
pitch their camp, and for the -stragglers to-get into it. 

On the other hand, I had no_desire to arrive late. The couu 
cil was to be held that night-r^-so she had- learned — and after 
the council must come the crisis. I must be in time for both. 

At what hour would the council take place ? It might be 
just after they had halted. 

The son of a chief, and a chief himself — for thejwhite renegade 
was a .leader of red men — a question between two such men 
would not. remain long undecided. And a question of so much 
importance^-involving sucloconsequences— property irnbody and 
soul— fpossession of the most-beautiful woman in the world 1 

Oh ! L. wondered, could these hideous ochre-stained,, grease- 
bedaubed-brutes^ appreciate that peerless-beauty ? Impossible, 
I thought. The delicate lines of her loveliness would be lost 
upon their gross eyes and coarsa-sensual hearts. That- pearl 


THE LAST HOURS ON THE TRAIL. 


42b 


beyond price-^paste would have, satisfied them as well — they 
could not distinguish thejliamond from common, glass. 

And yet the Comanche is mot without love-craft. Coarse as 
might be the ..passion, they must have, loved her — both must 
have loved her-^red savage and w r hite. savage. 

For this very reason the “ trial” would not be delayed. The 
question would be .speedily decided, so that the quarrel of the 
chiefs might be brought to an end. For this very reason the 
crisis might be. hastened, the council take place at ' an early 
hour ; for this very reason I,’ too, must needs be upon the spot 
at an early hour. 

It was my aim to arrive within sight of the Indian encamp- 
ment just before night — in the. twilight, if possible — that we 
might bemble to make recognizance of the ground before dark 
ness would ©over it from our view. We were-desirous of ac- 
quainting^ourselves with the lay of the surrounding. country as 
well, mo that in the event of our escape, we should know which 
was the best direction to take. 

We-timed our advance- by the sign upon the trail. The keen 
scouts.could tell almost to a-minute when the latest tracks were 
made, and by this we were guided. Both glided silently along 
their eyes, constantly and earnestly turned upon the ground. 

Mine were more anxiously bent upon the sky. From that 
quarter I most feared an obstacle to the execution of my pur- 
pose. 

What a ^change had come over my desires. How different are 
they from those of the preceding night. The very same aspect 
of the. heavens that had hitherto chagrined and baffled me,. would 
now have beeiuwelcome. In ray. heart I had lately execrated 
the clouds — in tha t -same heart I was now praying for cloud, 
andmtorm, and darkness. 

Now could I.have blessed the .clouds, there were. none to bless 
— not a speck appeared over the whole face of the firmament — 
the eye beheld only the illimitable ether. 


426 


THE WAR-TKaTL. 


Iij another hour that boundless blue would be studded over 
with millions of bright stars, and silvered by the light of a re- 
splendent moon — the night would be as day. 

I was dismayed at the prospect. I prayed for cloud, and 
storm, and darkness. Human heart ! unreasoning and unrea- 
sonable when blinded by its own petty passion. My petition 
was opposed to the unalterable laws of Nature — it could not be 
hea'^d. 

I can scarce describe how the aspect of that bright sky 
troubled and. pained me. The night bird, who joys only in 
deepest darkness, could not have liked it less. 

Should there be moonlight, the enterprise would be made 
more perilous-^ doubly more. Doubly more should there be 
moonlight — why need. I form an hypothesis? Moonlight there 
woidd be to a certainty. It.was the jniddle term of the lunar 
month, and the moon would be up almost as the sun went down 
— full, Tound, and almost as bright as he, with no cloud to cover 
heieface — to shroud the earth from her white diaphanous light* 
Certainly there would be -moonlight 1 

Well thought of- us was that disguise ! Well spent was our 
labor in making it so .perfect ! Under the moonlight, to- it only 
could L trust. By it . only might I expect to preserve my in- 
cognito. 

But the. eye of the Indian savage is sharp, and his perception 
♦keen — almost as instinct itself. I could not rely much upon my 
borrowed-.pl umes, should speech be required from me. Just on 
account of the cunning imitation, the perfectness of the pattern, 
some of the friends of the original model might have- business 
with me — might approach and address me. I knew not a word 
of Comanche — how should I escape from the colloquy ? 

Such thoughts were,troubling me as we rode along the trail. 

Night was near — the suu’s lorn rival rested on the far ho 
rizon of the west — the hour was an anxious one to me. 

The scouts had been for some tim<T in the advance, without 


THE COMANCHE CAMP. 


427 


returning to report ; and we had halted in a copse to wait for 
them. A high hill was before us, wooded only at the summit. 
Over this hill t lie-war -trail led. We had observed the scouts 
to go into the timber, and we kept our eyes upon the spot, 
waiting for their return. 

Presently, one of them appeared just outside the edge of the 
woods. Garey* we saw it was. He made signs to us to come 
on. 

We jode up to the hill, and entered among the trees. Here 
we diverged from the -trail. The scout guided us through the 
trunks, over the high summit. On the other side the wood ex- 
tended only a little-below, but we did not ride beyond it. We 
halted . before coming to its edge, and, dismounting, tied our 
horses to the trees. 

We crept-forward.on our hands and knees, till we had reached 
the outmost verge of the timber. Through the leaves we peered, 
looking down into the plain beyond. We saw smokes and 
fires, and a skin Lodge in their midst. We saw dark forms 
around— men moving over the ground, and horses with their 
heads to the grass. We were looking upon the Comanche 
camp. 


CHAPTER LXXXVI. 

THE COMANCHE CAMP. 

We had reached our ground just at the moment I had 
desired. It was twilight— dark enough to render ourselves 
inconspicuous under the additional shadow of the trees, yet 
sufficiently clear to allow a full reconnoissance or the enemy's 
position. Our- point ofi view was a good one-^under a single 
coup d’ mil commanding the encampment, and a vast extent of 
country around it. The hill we had-climbed — a sort of isolated 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


£28 

butte— was the only eminence of any considerable elevation foi 
miles around, and the site of the camp was upon the plain that 
stretched away from its base, apparently beyond limit. 

This plain was what is termed a “pecan” prairie — that is a 
prairie half covered with.groves, copses and lists of woodland, 
in which the predominating tree is the pecan, a species of 
hickory, bearing an ovai edible nut of commercial value ( Carya 
oliviformis). Between the pores and “ mottes” of timber single 
trees stood apart, their heads fully developed by the free 
play given to their branches. These^ark-looking trees, with 
the eojjpice-lik-e. groves of the pecan, lent an air of high civiliza-. 
tion to the landscape, and the winding stream, whose water under 
the still lingering rays glistened with the sheen of silver,. added 
to the deception. Withal, it was a wilderness — a beautiful 
wilderness. Human hands had never planted those groves — 
human agency had naught to do with the formation or adorn- 
ment of that lovely landscape. 

Upon the bank of the stream, and about half a fnile from 
the base of the hill, stood the Indian camp. A glance at the 
position - showed how well it had been, chosen— not so much, 
for-defence, as to ^protect it against a surprise. 

Assuming Jhe. lodge — there was but one — as the centre of the 
•Tamp, it was placed upon the edge of a small grove, and fronting 
the stream. From the. tent to the water’s edge, the plain 
sloped gently downward like the glacis of a fortification. The 
smooth sward that covered the space between the-trees and the 
water was the ground of the camp. On this could be seen the 
dusky warriors, some afoot, standing in various attitudes or 
moving about, others reclining upon the grass, and still others 
bending over the fires, as if engaged in the preparation of the 
evening meal 

A line of- spears, regularly placed, marked the allotment 
of each. These slender shafts — nearly five yards in length — 
rose tall above the turf, like masts of distant ships, displaying 


THE COMANCHE CAMP. 


429 


their profusion of pennons and bannerets of painted plumes and 
human- hair. At the -base of each could be seen the gaudy 
shield, the bow and quiver, the embroidered pouch, and the 
medicine-bag of the owner ; and grouped around many of them 
appeared objects of a far different character— objects that we 
could not contemplate without acute eraotidn. They were 
women-*- enough of light still ruled the sky to show us their 
faces — they were white women — the-captives. Strange were my 
sensations as I regarded those forms and faces, but they were 
far off. Even a lover’s eye was unequal to the distance. 

Flanking the camp, orr right and left, were the horses. They 
occupied a broad belt of ground, for they were staked out to 
feed, and each was allowed the length of his lazo. Their line 
conveyed to the rear, and met behind the grove, so that the 
camp was embraced by an arc of browsing animals, the river 
forming its chord. Across the stream the encampment did not 
extend. 

I have, said that thmspot was well selected to guard against a 
surprise. Its peculiar- adaptability consisted in the fact, that 
the little^ grove that -backed the camp, was the only timber 
within a radius of a thousand yards. All around, and even 
ou the -opposite side of the stream, the plain was treeless and 
free from cover of any kind. There were no inequalities of 
ground — neither break, bush, nor scaur — to shelter the approach 
of an enemy. 

Had the. position beea chosen ? or was it accidental ? In 
such a^place and at such „a time it was not likely they had 
any - fear of a -surprise — but with the Indian, caution is so 
habitually.. exercised, that it becomes almost am instinct, and 
doubtless., under such an. impulse, and without any prethought 
whatever, the savages had aptly fixed upon the._spot where they 
were_encamped. The grove gave them wood, the stream water, 
the plaimpabulum for theiivhorses.- With_one of-thesmlast for 
their own-food, they had all the requisites of an Indian camp. 


iso 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


At the first glance, I saw the strength of their position. 
Not so much with the eye of a .soldier as. that of a hunter 
and bush fighter did I perceive . it. In a military sense, it 
offered no point of defence ; but it could not be approached by 
stratagem, and that is. all the. horse-Indian ever fears. Alarm 
him, not too suddenly give him five minutes’ warning, and he 
cannot be -attacked. If superior in strength, you may. chase 
him, but you must be .better mounted than he, to bring him 
to close combat. Retreat, not defence, is generally the leading 
idea of Comanche strategy, unless when opposed to a Mexican 
foe. Then he will stand fight, with the courage of a master. 

As I continued to.gaze at the Indian encampment, my heart 
sank within me. Except under cover of a dark night — a very 
dark night — it could not be entered. The keenest spy could not 
have- -approached it — it appeared unapproachable. 

The same-thought must at that moment have occupied the 
minds of my companions. I saw the gloom of-disappointraent 
on the brows of all, silent and sullen. None of them said a 
word. They had not spoken since we came upon the ground. 

What think you, reader, were the emotions that thrilled 
my soul as the conviction was forced upon me that she I sought 
was thus separated from me by an impassable barrier, the 
attempting to penetrate which would in all probability result in 
my own destruction and her inevitable captivity — the more-pro- 
longed and the more severe from the very fact that she. had 
friends among the pale-faces — the bitter enemies of her captors. 
Although the-impulses of my nature prompted me individually to 
dare every danger in the mad hope of rescuing Isolina, yet a 
moment’s reflection convinced me of the inutility of the attempt, 
and I chafed like an untamed mustang which/n vaimdraws upoa 
the Jazo which checks hi& flight. 


NO COVER. 


431 


CHAPTER LXXXYII. 

NO COVER. 

In silence I continued to scrutinize the camp, but oould dis* 
cover no mode of approaching it secretly, or in safety. 

As I have said, the adjacent plain, for nearly a thousand 
yards’ radius, was smooth grass-covered prairie. Even the grass 
was short. It would scarcely have sheltered the smallest game, 
much less afford shelter for the body of a man — much less for 
that of a horse. 

I would willingly have crawled on hands and knees over the 
half mile that separated us from the encampment ; but that 
would have been of no service. I might just as well have walk- 
ed erect. Erect, or prostrate, I should be seen all the same by 
the occupants of the camp, or the guards of the horses. Even 
if I succeeded in effecting an entrance within the lines, what 
then ? Even should Lsucceed infinding Isolina, what hope was 
there of our getting off ? 

There was no -probability of our being able to leave the lines 
unseen— mot the. least. We should certainly be. pursued, and 
what chance for us to escape? It was not probable we could 
run for a thousand yards with the hue and cry after us? 
No, we should be .overtaken— re-captured — speared or toma- 
hawked upon the. spot 1 

TheAlesign I had formed was to have brought my, horse as 
close as possible to the Indian lines — to have left him under 
cover, and within such-distance as would make it possible to reach 
him by a run, then mounting with my betrothed in my arms, to 
gallop to my comrades. These I had intended should be placed 
in ambush, as near to the camp as the nature of the ground 
would permit. But my preconceived plan was entirely frus 
trated by the peculiar situation of the Indian encampment. I had 


*32 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


anticipated that there would be either, trees, brushwood, or 
brokeu.ground in its neighborhood, under shelter of which we 
might approach. To my chagrin there was .none of the three. 
There was-no timber nearer than the grove in which we were 
lying — the-copse^excepted, and to have reached this would have 
been to enter the. camp itself. 

We appeared to have., advanced to the utmost limit possible 
that affordecLcover. A few feet~farther would have, carried us 
outside the-jnargin of the timber ; and then we should have 
been as conspicuous to the-denizens of the camp, as they now 
were to us. Forward w.e dare not stir, not a step farther. 

I was .puzzled, perplexed, chagrined. 

Once more I turned my eyes upon the sky, but I drew not 
thence a, ray of hope. The heavens were toodoright. The sun 
had gonejiown in the west ; but in the -east was. rising full, 
round, and red^almost his -counterpart. How L should have 
welcomed aru eclipse. I thought of- omnipotent power. I 
thought of the command of the Israelitish captain. Lshould 
have -joyed to see the shadow of the opaque earth pass over that 
shining orb, rob it of its borrowed light, if only for a single 
hour. 

Eclipse or cloud there was none — no prospect of either — no 
hope either from the earth or the sky. 

Verily then must I abaudon rav design, and adopt some 
other for the. rescue of my betrothed? What other? I could 
think of no other that might be termed a plan. We might gal- 
lop forward, and openly attack the camp? Sheer desperation 
alone coulcUrapel to such a course, and the result would be ruin 
to. all — to, her among the rest. We could not hope to rescue 
her-^nine to a hundred— for we saw and could now count our 
dusky foemen. 

They would see us afar off — would be prepared to receive ua 

prepared to hurl their masses upon us — to destroy us altogether 
— sheer desperation. 


NO COVER. 


433 


What other plan ? what 

Something of one occurred to me at that moment. A slight 
shadow of it had crossed my mind before. It seemed, though 
fearfully perilous, practicable ; but what of peril? It was not 
the time, nor was I in the mood to regard dauger. Any thiug 
short of the, prospect of. certain death had no terror for me 
then ; and even this I should have preferred to failure 

We had along with us the horse of the captive Comanche. 
Stanfield had brought the animal, having left his own in ex- 
change. My new. design was to. mount the -Indian horse, and 
ride him -boldly into the camp. In this consisted the whole of 
my newly conceived scheme. Surely thejdea was a, good one — 
a slight alteration of my original plan. I had already under- 
taken to play the j'ble of an Indian warrior, while -within the 
camp : it would only require me to begin the personation outside 
the lines, and make my intree along with debut. There would be 
more dramatic appropriateness, with a proportionate increase of 
danger. But I did not jest thus. I had no thought of merri- 
ment at the lime. The travesty I had undertaken was no bur- 
lesque. 

The worst feature of the new scheme was the increased risk 
of being brought in contact with the . friends of the warrior of 
the red-hand^-of being accosted by them, and of course expected 
to make. reply. How could I avoid meeting them — one or more 
of them ? If interrogated, how shun making answer ? I knew 
a few words of the Comanche tongue, but not enough to hold a 
conversation in it. Either my false accent or my voice would 
betray me 1 True, I might answer in Spanish. Many of the 
Comanches speak this language ; but my using it would appear 
a suspicious circumstance. 

There was another source of apprehension. I could not cou- 
fide in the Indian horse. He had endeavored to fling Stan- 
field all along the way, kicking violently, and biting at his rider 
while- seated upon his back. Should he behave in a similar 

19 


434 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


manner with me while entering the camp, it would attract the at» 
Mention of the Indians. It would lead to scrutiny and sns- 
picion. 

Still another fear, even should I succeed in the main points, k/ 
entering the camp, finding the captive, and wresting her from 
the hands of her jailers — how after ? I could never depend 
upon this capricious mustang to carry us clear of the pursuit — 
there would be others as swift, perhaps swifter than he, and we 
should only be carried back to die. Oh ! that I could have 
taken my own steed near to the lines of yonder guard — oh ! 
that I could have ridden him there. 

It might not be ; I saw that it could not be, and I was 
forced to abandon all thought of it. 

I had well-uigh made up my mind to risk all the -chances of 
my assumed character, by mounting the Indian horse. To my 
comrades I.imparted the idea, and asked their counsel. 

All regarded it as fraught with danger. One or two advised 
me against it. They were those who did not understand my 
motives — who could not comprehend the sentiment of-love — 
who knew not the courage which that noble passion may im- 
part. Little-understood they how its emotions inspire to deeds 
of daring — how love absorbs all -selfishness, even life becoming a 
secondary, consideration, when weighed against the happiness or 
safety of its object./ /These men had never loved as I) 1 I gave 
no ear to their too prudent counsels. 

Others acknowledged the-danger, but saw not how I could 
act-differently. One or two of them had, in their lives’, course, 
experienced a touch of the tender feeling akin to-mine. These 
could appreciate ; and counselled me in consonance with mv 
half-formed resolution. I liked their counsel best. 

One hadmot yet spoken — one upon whose advice I placed a 
higher value than. upon the combined wisdom of ; all the others. 

I had not-yet had the opinion of the earless trapper. 

Oh, how I longed to. hear him speak— reflective 


JRUBE CONSULTING HIS ORACLE. 


435 


bi-ave and sagacious Rube ! I. felt as if his. assent or dissent 
would -decide my- wavering — for his judgment was ever clear, 
cool, and calculating all the chances of success, or danger of 
defeat. 


CHAPTER LXXXYIII. 

RUBE CONSULTING HIS ORACLE. 

He was standing apart from the rest-cleaning I should ratines 
say,, for his body was not erect, but diagonal. In this attitude 
it was propped by his rifle, the butt of which was steadied against, 
the stump of a tree, while the muzzle appeared to rest upon the 
bridge of Rube’s own-nose. 

As the man and the piece were about of a length, the two 
thus placed in juxtaposition presented the exact- figure of an 
inverted- Y, and the -small close-capped -skull of the trapper 
formed a sufficiently tapering apex to the angle. Both, hands 
were clasped round the barrel near its muzzle, his fingers inter- 
locking while the thumbs lay flat, one upon each side of his m se. 

At the jirst glance it was difficult to tell whether he was gaz- 
ing into the barrel of the^piece, or beyond it upon the Indian 
camp. 

The -attitude was not~new to kirn, nor to me. It was notj the 
first time I had observed him in a posture precisely similar. I 
knew it was his favoriteuywse, when any ..question of, unusual 
difficulty ^required all the energy of his “instincts.” He was 
now, as often of yore, consulting his “divinity,” presumed to 
dwell far down within the dark tube of “-Targuts.” 

After a . time all the others ceased to speak, and stood watch* 
ing him. They knew that no step would be . taken before 
Rube’s>udvice had been., received, and they, waited with m<vre or 
less patience for him to speak. 


43G 


THE WAR-TKAIL. 


So true is it, that among no class of men is such -deference 
paid to -sagacity and courage as among the trappers and hunters, 
who are . compelled to rely so much upon their “ gifts qt 
“ instincts,” as they derm them — which is certainly a misnomer, 
as they are. not attained save by years of experience and study 
in the school of woodcraft. 

Full ten minutes passed, and still the old trapper neither 
Stirred nor- spoke. Nor lip nor. muscle of him was seen to move. 
The eyes alone could be detected in motion, and these small 
orbs,- scintillating in their deep . sockets, were the only, signs of 
life which he- showed. Standing-rigid and -still, he appeared not 
a statue but a scarecrow propped up by a stick, and the long, 
weather-washed rifle did not belie the resemblance. Full ten 
minutes, passed, and still he spoke not. His “ oracle ” had not 
yet yielded its-response. 

I have said that at the first glance it was difficult to- tell 
whether the old man was gazing into the barrel of his gun or 
beyond it. After-watching him closely, I saw that he was doing 
both: Now his eyes were a little raised, as if he looked upon 
the plain, anon they were lowered, and evidently, peering into 
the hollow-tube. He was.drawing the data of his problem from 
facts — he was trusting to his divinity for the solution. 

For a long time he kept up this singular- process of conjura- 
tion,, alternating his glances in equal distribution between the 
hollow cylinder and the small circle of vision that covered the 
Indian camp. 

. The others- began to grow impatient; all were interested in 
the .result, and not without reason. Standing upon the limits 
of a life-danger, it is not strange they should feel anxiety about 
the issue. 

So far, however, none had offered to interrupt or question 
the queer old man. None^dared. One or two of the party had 
already had a taste of his quality when, fretted or- interfered 
with, and no one desired to draw upon himself the sharp “ talk • 
of the earless trapper. 


RUBE CONSULTING HIS ORACLE. 


437 


Garey at length approached, bat not until Rube, with a 
triumphant, toss of his head and a scarcely audible “ whoop ” 
from his thin lips, showed signs that the consultation had ended, 
and that the “joss ” who dwelt at the bottom of his rifle barrel, 
had vouchsafed an answer 1 

I had watched him with the rest. I liked that expressive 
pitch' of the head; I liked the low but momentous sibillation 
that terminated the seance between him and his familiar spirit. 
They were, signs that the knot was unravelled — that the old 
trapper had devised some possible plan, by which the Indian 
camp might be entered. 

Garey and I drew near, but not to question him. We under* 
stood him too well for that. We knew that he must be left free 
to develop his purpose in his own time; and we left him free — 
simply placing ourselves by his side. 

“Wal, Billee!” he- said, after drawing a long breath, “an’ 
yerself, young fellur, what d’ee-both think o’ this hyur bizness — 
looks rngly, don’t it — eh, boyees ?” 

“ Taiut ugly,” was Garey’sdaconic answer. 

“ Tho’t so- meeself at first.” 

“ Thar aint no plan o’ fightin’ into thar camp,” said the young 
trapper, in a desponding tone. 

“The h^ ? thur aint! What greenhorn put thet. idee inter 
yur brain-pan, Bill ?” 

“ Wal, thar are a plan, but taint much o’ a one. We’ve been 
talkin’ it over hyar.” 

“Le’s-hear it,” responded Rube, with an exulting chuckle; 
“le’s hev it, boyee ! an’ quick Bill, fur- time’s dodrotted pre- 
cious ’bout now. Wal ?” 

“ Its jestd:his r Rube, nyther- less nor- more — the .capt’in. pro- 
poses to take tbe lnjun’s horse, and ride straight into thar camp.” 

“ Strait custrut in do’ee ?” 

“ In course — it ud be no use gwine about the bush — they 
kin see him a comin’ from any side.” 


438 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


“I’ll be durned ef they kin — thet I’ll be. durned. WagM 
they cudn’t a see. me-^thet they cudn’t, ef every nigger o’ ’em 
hed the eyes o’ an A.rgoose^-thet they cudu’t, Billee.” 

“ How?” I inquired. “ Do yoiumean to say that it is possi- 
ble for any one tq.- appoach yonder camp without being 
observed? Is that what you mean, Rube ?” 

“That ur ..preezactly what I mean, young fellur; no, not 
adzactly thet, eyther. One o' you I didn’t say. What I said 
wur thet this hyur trapper, Rube Rawlins o’ the Rocky Moun- 
tains, kud- slide inter yander campmint jest like greased lightnin’ 
through a gooseberry-bush, ’ithout e’er an Injun seein’ ’im; and 
thet too *ef the red skinned varmints hed more eyes in thur 
heads than they hew lice;- which, accordin’ to this child’s recknin’, 
ud give ivery squaw’s son o’ the gang as miny peepers as thur 
ur spots in a peacock’s tail, an’ a wheen over to breed, I kalker- 
late. No plan to git inter thur camp ’ithout bein’ seed! 
Wagh ! yur gettin’ green, Bill Garey.” 

“ How can it be^accomplished, Rube ? Pray explain. You 
know how impatient 


“ Don’t git impayshent, young-^fellur ! thet ur’s no use whet- 
somdever. Yu’ll need- payshinse, an’ a good grist o’ thet ur, 
afore ye kin warm yur shins at yander fires; but ee kin do it, 
an’ in the nick o’ time too, ef yu’ll go preezactly accordin’ to 
what ole Rube tells ye, an’ keep yur eye well skinned, an’ yur 
teeth from chatterin’ — I knows yu’ll do all thet. I knows yur 
weasel to the back o’ yur neck, an’ kin whip yur weight in wildcats 
any day i’ the year. Now, d’yur-agree to follur myAereckshuns ?” 

“ I promiseJaithfully to act according to your-advice.” 

“Thet ur- sensible ^sayed-^durnation’d sensible. Wal, then, 
I’ll gi’ ye myNdevice.”^ 


As Rube sal { this, he moved-dbrward to the edge of the tim- 
ber, making a sign for Garey and myself to follow. 

On reaching its outer edge, but still within cover, he dropped 
down upon his knees, behind some evergreen bushes. 


THE TRAPPEli’s COUNSEL. 


£39 

I -imitated his. example, and kneeling upon bis- right, while 
Garey .crouched down on the left. 

Our eyes were directed upon the Jnuian camp, ofL which, and 
the^plaiu around it, we had a good ..view — as good as could be 
obtained under the .light of a too brilliant-moon. 

After we had surveyed the scene for some moments in silence- 
.he old trapper condescended to begin the conversation. 


CHAPTER LXXXIX. 

THE TRAPPER’S COUNSEL. 

“ Xow BilL Garey, an’ you ..young fellur, jest clap yer. eyes on 
thefc ere campmint, an’ see ef tliur aint a road leadin’ inter the 
very heart o’ it r strait as the tail o’ a skeert fox — ’ee see it ? 
eh ?” 

“ Not- under -kiver ?” replied Garey, interrogatively. 

“Under kiver-^every step o’ the way — th^best o’-kiver.” 

Garey and I once raore^scrutinized the whole circumference 
of the encampment, and the ground adjacent. We could per- 
ceive no cover by which the camp could be approached. Surely 
there was- none. 

What could Rube mean? Were there clouds in the sky? 
Had he perceived some portent of coming darkness ? Had his 
words, reference to this ? 

I raised my eyes, and swept the whole canopy with inquiring 
glances Up to the zenith, around the horizon, east, west, 
north, and south, I looked for clouds, but looked in vain. A 
few li^-ht cirri floated high in the atmosphere, but these, even 
when crossing the moon’s disc, cast no perceptible shadow. On 
the contrary, they were tokens of settled weather, and moving 
slowly, almost fixed upon the face of the heavens, were evidence 
that no sudden change might be expected. When the trapper 


440 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


talked of- entering the camp under cover, he could not have 
meant under-cover of darkness. What-then ? 

“ Don’t see any~kiver, old boss ?” said Garey, after a pause ; 
tl neyther~bush nor weed.” 

“ Bush !” echoed Rube, “ who’s, talking about weeds and 
bushes ? There’ smother ways o’ hidin’ yur karkidge ’sides stick- 
in’ it in am bush or under a weed. Your a gettinl durnation’d 
pumpkin-headed, Bill Garey. I ’gin to. think yur in the same 
perdicament as the~young fellurdnsself. You’ve been a humbug- 
gin’ wi’ one o’ them ur Mexican Moochachers.’^v^ 

“ No, Rube, no.” , 

“ Duru me ef I don’t bleeve you hev, boy. I heern ye tell 
one o’ ’em ” 


“ What ?”; 

“Wagh I yaknow well enough. Didn’t ’ea tell one o’ thur 
gurls--at the raucherie that ye-loved-her as-hard as a mu?le kud 
kick — sartiutly ye-did ; them-wur your-preezact words, Billie.” 

“ I was only-pokin’, hoss.” 

kv Pretty, jokin’ that will be, when I gits back to- Bent’s- fort, 
an’ tell yur Coco -squaw — he — he — he — ho — ho — -ho I Gee 
hosophat ! thur will be a. rumpus.” 

“Nonsense, Rube, thar , s..nothen-d^ it.” 

“ Thar must a_be — yur brain pan’s out o’-order — Bill, ye haint 
hed a-clur idee for~uine days back. Bushes and -weeds too. 
Wagh! Who sayed thur wur. bushes. Whar’s yur eyes ? d’ye 
see a bank ?” 

“ A. bank ?” echoed Garey and T, simultaneously. 

“ Ye-es,” drawled Rube, “ a -bank. I guess there’s a bank, 
right afore yur~noses, ef both o’ you aiut as-blind as the kfttens 
o’ a~possum. Now, do ’ee-see it ?” 

Neither of us made-reply to the final .interrogatory. For the 
first time, we began to comprehend Rube’s - meaning, and our 
eyes as well as thoughts were suddenly directed upon the-object 
indicated by his words — the bank of the -stream— for ta this he 
referred. 


THE TRAPPER’S UOLNSEL. 


44i 


I Lave, stated that the little river ran close to the Indian 
lines, and ou one side formed the-boundary of the. camp. 

We could tell -that the. current was towards us ; for the 
stream, on reaching the hill upon which we were* turned sharply 
off and swept round its base. The Indian camp was on the left 
bank, though upon iti right, when viewed up stream, as w r e w r ere 
regarding it. Any one proceeding up the left bank must, there- 
fore, necessarily pass within the lines, and through among the 
horses that were staked nearest to the water. 

It need not be. supposed that under our new scrutiny the 
stream had hitherto escaped observation. I. myself had long 
ago. thought of it, as a means of covering my approach. Time 
after time had my eyes dwelt upon it, but- without result. In 
its- channel I could, perceive no shelter from, observation. Its 
banks w T ere low, and without either rush or bush upon them 
The green,, turf of the prairie stretched up to the very brink, 
and scarce, twelve inches below its level was the surface of the 
current. This was- especially the^ease along the front of the 
encampment, and for some distance above and below. 

Any one-ondeavoring to- enter the camp by stealing up the 
channel, must have gone-completely under the^water — for even 

swimmer could have been observed upon its surface. Or even 
if a man could have approached in this way, there was no hope 
that a horse could be taken near, and without the horse, what 
prospect of ultimate- escape ? 

It had seemed to me. impossible. More than once had I taken 
into .consideration, and as often rejected the idea. Not so 
Rube. It was the very scheme he ha&.conceived, and he now 
proceeded to point out its practicability. 

“ Now, then, >ee see a bank, do ’ee ?” 

“ Taint much o’ a bank,” replied Garey, rather discouragingly. 

« Xo taint as high as JVlissoora Bluffs, nor the- biluffs o 

Snake River— that nob’dy dilrnies— but Sf- taint as. high as br 
it ur ivery minnit a-gettin higher, I reek’n.” 

19 *. 


442 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


“ Getting-higher, you say ?” 

“ Ye-es, or ^what ur putty., consumable the same thing, jbht 
tother ur a gettin’ -lower.” 

“ The -water, you mean ?” 

“The. water ur a- failin' — gwine down bj: inches at a jump, 
aivln a hour from this, tbur’ll. be-bluffs in front o’ the .camp, 
helf a yard high — tliet’s what-thur’ll be." 

“And yoa think I could get into the camp by creeping 
under there ?” 

“ Sure*- o’t ; whet’s to hinner ye ? — it ur as easy as failin’ off a 


log.” 

“ But thejiorse — how could I bring hinunear ?” 

“Jest the same way as_yurself. I- tell yur, the. bed o’ that 
river ur-deep enuf to-hide the. biggest-hoss in creeashun. ’T ur 
now full, for the~reezun there’s been a fresh im^Soi^Jwinc^Q^^ 
last night’s-rain ; ’ee needn’t- mind thet — the- boss kin. wade or 
swim-eythur, an’ the bank ’ll kiver ’im from the eyes o’ the Injuns. 
You kin .leave him in the. river.” 

“ In the- water ?” 

“In coorse — yur boss ’ll stand- thur — an’ ef he-don’t, you kin 
tie his. nose to the bank. You kin take ’im as near as you please* 
but don’t go too far to wind’rd, else them mustangs ’1L smell 
’im, and ihen it ur alLup both wi’ yurself an’ yur boss. About 
two hundred yurds ’ll be yur Jikliest, distance. Ef yur git the 
gfrrl cliir yeTkin easy, run that, I-reckin ; jest start for thedioss; 
an’ when yur^ mounted, gallip like- durnation up^-hyur for the 
timrfter, whur we’ll be-cached, an’ then, durned ef the .red skins 
don’t git goss out o’ our rifles— wagh 1 thet’s the- way tur do 
the thing — it ur.” - c (*> 

Certainly the_plan appeared practicable enough. The-sinking 
the water was a new- element. It had- escap’ed my observa- 
tion, though Rube had- noted it. It was this that hac^ delayed 
him so. long in giving his opinion. He had been watching it 
while leaning upon his rifle, though none of the rest of us had 


TAKING TO THE WATER. 


443 

thought of such a thing. He remembered the heavy-rain of the 
night -before. He saw that it had caused ajreshet in the little 
river, that its subsidence had .begun, and as in most prairie 
streams, it was -progressing with rapidity. His keea eye 
}iad -detected a. fall of several inches during 4he half hour we 
£ad been upon the ground. I could. myself observe, now that 
the- thing was_ pointed out to me that the banks were higher 
than before. 

Certainly the- plan of approaching by the stream had. assumed 
n more -feasible aspect. If the -channel should, prove deep 
enough, I might get the horse sufficiently- near — the rest would 
have to be left to .stratagem and .chance. 

Yur ridin’ in \he, Iujuu hoss,” said Rube, “ would -never do 
— it-mout on the V^^pinch, an’ ef ye don’t, git in the„tother 
way, you kin still but vou cu’d niver git.acrosst through 

the-picket; thenxmustang^m t>esure to raise si^h a-snortin’ and 
stompin’, an’ .jvhi^6Yin’<j as' ’ud bring the hul.campment about 
ye, and some o’ the^harp eyed, niggurs ’ud b© sartin to find out 
yur hide wur -white. Tother.way ur. fur the -safest — it ur.” 

I was not- long in making up my mind. Rube’s counsel at 
once decided me, and I resolved to act accordingly. 


CHAPTER XC. 

TAKING TO THE WATER. 

I spent but little time in preparations. These had been made 
already. 

It remained only to -tighten my saddle-girth, look to the caps 
of my_jevolvers, and place both pistols and knife in the- belt 
behind my back. There the-weapons would be concealed by the 
pendent robe of the jaguar skins. In a few minutes I was ready 

I still loitered awhile, to wait for the falling of the water 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


4.44 

Not long — I was- too anxious to tarry long. The- hour of the 
council might be- come — I might be4oo late for the crisis. Not 
long did I loiter. 

It was not. necessary. Even by the. moonlight we could dis- 
tinguish the dark line of the- bank separating the grassy turf 
from the surface of the water. The rippling current was shining 
like, silver-lace, and by^ contrast, the dark earthy- stripe that 
rose vertically above it, could be- observed more- distinctly. It 
was sensibly-broader. 

I could wait no longer. Ideaped into the saddle. My com- 
rades-crowded around me to say a parting word. With a wish 
or a prayer upon their lips, one after another pressed my hand. 
Some-doubted of their ever- seeing me. again — I could- tell this 
from thejtone of their-leave-taking ; others were more confident. 
All vowed to-revenge me if I fell. 

Rube and Garey went. with me down. the hill. At the point 
where the stream -infringed upon it there were, bushes. These 
continued up the-declivity, and joined the-timber upon the sum- 
mit. Under their-cover we had descended, -reaching the^ bank 
just at the- salient- angle of the-bend. A thin-skirting of- similar 
bushes- ran around the base of the hill, and following the path 
by -which we had come, the ambuscade might have been- moved 
a little nearer to the_camp, But thereover was. not so good as 
the.grove upon the summit, and in case of a retreat, it would be 
necessary to. gallop up the naked face of the slope, and thus 
expose our_ numbers. It was decided, therefore, to leave the 
men where they were. 

From the bend to the Indian camp the river trended almost in 
a-straight line, and its long reach lay before my eyes like a band 
of shiningmetal. Along its bank the bush extended no further 
A single-step towards the camp would have^exposed me to the 
view of its- occupants. 

At this- point, therefore, it was necessary for me to take the 
water, and-distnounting, I made ready for the immersion. 


TAKING TO THE WATER. 


M5 


TheTrappers had -spoken their last words of instruction and 
counsel. They had both, grasped my hand, giving it a significant 
squeeze that promised jnore than words : but to -.these, too had 
they given utterance. 

“ Don’t be afeard, capt’n !” said the younger ; “ Rube and I 
yon’t b^ .far off. If we -hear your ..pistols, we’ll make a rush 
tor’s! you, and meet you -half way anyhow ; and if .anything 
should happen jimiss ” — here Grarey spoke with emphasis — “you 
may depend on’t, we’ll take a bloody revenge.” 

“ Ye-es,!’ echoed Rube, “ we’ll do jest thet — thur’ll be many a 
nick in -Targuts afore next -Krissmuss, ef you - ur rubbed out, 
young fellur — that I swear to -ye — but don’t be^keeart ! Keep 
yur -eyes. sharp -skinned, an’ youruclaws steady, an’ thur’s no .feer 
but you’ll get-clur— oncest yur-clur o’ the camp, ’ee may 
reckon -on us — but- start for the-timr&Tr, an* gallop as ef ole 
scratch wur a gruppin at the -tail o’ yur critter ” 

I waited to- hear no -more, but leading Moro down the bank 
at a -place where it -sloped, I stepped., gently into the current. 
My well-trained-steed followed without -hesitation, and in another 
instant we were -both -breast deep in the flood. The water was 
just the. depth I desired. There.was a. half yard of bank that 
rose -vertically -above the surface, and this was. sufficient to 
shelter either myuown head as I stood erect, or the frontlet of 
my horse. Should the channel. continue oLuniform depth as far 
as the camp, the approach would be easy indeed, and, for certain 
hydrographic reasons, I was in hopes it would. 

The plumes of the Indian bonnek rose above the level of 
the meadow turf; and as these .feathers, dyed of gay colors, 
would have formed a conspicuous object, I took off the gaudy 
head-dress and carried it in my.hand. I also raised the-robe of 
jaguar-skin over my shoulders, in order to keep it dry, and for the 
samereason I temporarily-carried my pistolsabove the water-line 
The_making of these slight alterations occupied only a minute 
or so, and aa soon as they were completed, I moved forward 


446 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


through the-water. The very_depth of the-stream proved a Cir 
cumstance in my-favor. In^wading, both -horse and-mau make 
less- noise in -deep than in- shallow water, and this- was an 
important'Consideration. The^ night was still— — too- still for my 
wishes — and the plunging sound would have been-heard afar off, 
but fortunately, there were- rapids below, just where thestream 
forced its way through the- spur of the hill, and the hissing -sough 
there, louder in the still- night, was borne upon the air to the 
distance of- many miles. Their- noise-' to my own. ears almost 
drowned the- plashing .made by-Moro and myself. I had noted 
thi & point d'avantage before-embarking upon the-enterprize. 

At the distance of two hundred yards from the bushes, I 
paused to look back. My purpose was to.fix in my memory the 
direction of the hill, and more -especially the -point where my 
comrades had been left in ambush. In the event of a close 
pursuit, it would not- do to mistake their exact situation. 

I easily made out the-place, and.,saw that, for several-reasons, 
a better could not have been chosen. The trees that timbered 
tlie- crest of the hill were of a peculiar, kind, more so upon 
the face of • the earth. They were a- species of arborescent 
yucca, their unknown to- botanists. Many of them were forty 
feet in- height, and their thick angular branches and terminal 
fascicles of rigid leaves, outlined against the sky, formed a singu- 
lar, almost am unearthly spectacle. It was unlike any other 
vegetation upon earth, more resembling a grove of cast iron than 
a wood of exogenous trees. 

Why I regarded the spot as favorable for an ambush, was 
chiefly this : a party approaching it from the plain, and climb- 
ing the hill, might fancy a host of enemies in their front, for the 
trees themselves, with their heads of radiating blades, borS a 
Striking resemblance to an^ array of plumed gigantic warriors. 
Many of the yuccas were only^six feet in height, with- tufted 
heads and branchless trunks as gross as the-body of a man, and 
these nnght readily have been mistaken for human beings. 


TIP STREAM. 


44Y 


I-saw at a glance the advantage of the position, should the 
Indians pursue me, and I could succeed in reaching the timber 
before them. A volley from my comrades would, check the 
pursuers, however .numerous. The nine rifles would be enough, 
with a few shots from the revolvers. The Ravages would fancy 
nine hundred under the mystifying -shadows of that spectral-like 
grove. 

With confidence, strengthened by these considerations, I once 
more turned my face up stream, and breasting the current, 
kept on. 


CHAPTER XCI. 

UP STREAM. 

My - advance was- far from being -rapid. The water was. occa- 
sionally-deeper or -shallower, but generally rising above my hips, 
deep- enough to. render wading a task of time and strength. The 
current was of course -against- me, and though not very swift, 
seriously, impeded my. progress. I could have -advanced more 
rapidly, but for the necessity of keeping my, head and that of my 
horse -below the-~escarpment of the bank. At- times it was a 
close fit, with scarce an inch to spare, and in several places 1 
was compelled to move with my back bent, and my horse’s 
nose was held down to the surface of the water. 

At intervals I paused tarest myself, for the^xertion of- wading 
against the -current wearied me, and -took away my breath. This 
was -particularly the case when I was required to-crouch, but I 
chose my resting-place where the channel was deepest, and where 
J could stand erect. 

I was all the time anxious to look up and take a survey of 
the*camp. I wished to ascertain its distance and position ; but 
J' dared not raise my head above the level of the bank. The 


448 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


sward that -covered it was .smooth as a mowi^meadow, and the 
edge line of the- turf even and unbroken: Had I shown, but my 
hand- above it, it -might have beeo-seeu in tho'clear white light. 
I dared not show either the -hand or head. 

I had advanced I know not - how far, but I fancied I must be 
near the- lines. All the -way I had kept close under the left 
bank, which, as Rube had predicted, now rose a full half yard 
above the water’s line. This was a favorablenircumstance, and 
another equally so was the fact that the moon on that — the 
eastern side — was yet low in the sky, and consequently the bank 
flung a broad black shadow that extended nearly half way across 
the~streara. In this- shadow I walked ; and its friendly darkness 
sheltered both myself and my horse. 

I fancied I must be near the lines, and longed to reconnoitre 
them, but for the reason already given, dare not. 

I was equally, afraid to make any further, advance ; for that 
would be still more^ perilous. I had already noted the direction 
of th^wind. It blew, from the- river, and- towards the. camp ; 
and should I-bring my horse opposite the line of the. mustangs, 
I would tfien beL directly to windward of them, and in danger 
from their keen nostril. They would be almost certain to take 
up the-.scent of my steed, and utter their-warning snorts. The 
breeze was light, but so-much the worse. There was sufficient 
to. convey the-smell, and not enough to. drown the plunging 
noise necessarily made by my horse, moving through the water, 
with the hollow pounding of his hoofs upon the rocks at the 
bottom. 

If I raised my head over the bank, there was the danger of 
being. observed ; if I advanced, the prospect was one of still 
greater- peril. 

For some moments I stood- hesitating-^uncertain as to whe- 
ther I should leave ray. horse, or lead*him a little further. I 
heard noises from the camp, but they were ncL distinct enough 
to guide. 


UP STREAM. 


449 


I looked Jback down the river with thejiope of being able to 
calculate the distance I had . come, amd by that means decide 
where I was. But my observations furnished no data by which 
I could determine my position. With my eyes almost on a level 
with the_surfaee of the wkter, I could not judge satisfactorily of 
distance. 

I turned my faceuup-stream and again, scrutinized the parapet 
line of the bank. Just then I saw an object over the edge, that 
answered well to. guide me. It was the. croup and hip bones of 
a horse— one of the, mustangs staked near the bank. I saw 
neither the head nor shoulders of the animal. Its hind quarters 
were towards the stream. Its head was to the grass — -it was 
browsing. 

The sight. gratified me : the mustang was full two hundred 
yards above the point I had- reached. I knew that its, position 
marked tlie_Outer line of the ^-encampment. I was* just in the 
place where L wanted to be— about, two hundred yards from 
their lines-vjust at the -distance I desired todeave my horse. 

I had. taken the-precaution tQ. bring with me my picket pi«^- 
one of the. essentials of the prairie traveller. It was the work 
of a moment to delve it into the bank. I needednot to drive if 
withjviolence : my„weli-trained-steed never broke, fastening, how 
ever flight. Withjhini the stake was only a sign that he was 
not free to .wander. 

In a moment he was staked ; and with a “ whisper ’’ I parted 
from him ; and kept on up-stream. 

I had not gone a .dozen yards further, when £ perceived a 
break in thedine of theJnank. . It was a little “ gulley,”' that led 
slanting from the level of the prairie down to the* bed of tjje 
stream. Its. counterpart I.perceived on the -opposite side. The 
two-indicated afford or-crossing,- used by. buffaloes, wild-horses, 
and other, denizens of tbe-prairie. 

At first t viewed- it with -apprehension. I feared it might-un- 
cover my -body to thoeyes of the enemy, but on coming opposite 


£50 


THE WAR- TRAIL. 


my 'fears were, allayed. The slope was* abrupt, and Ihe high 
grounds screened me as before. There would be -no -danger in 
passing the place. 

As I was about moving on, an idea arrested me ; and I paused 
to regard the gulley with a look of greater interest. It offered 
me an-advantage. 

I had been troubled about tho- position in which I had left my 
horse. Should I succeed in getting- back, of course it would be 
under the -pressure of hot pursuit, and my steed was not conve- 
niently placed. His back was below the level of the bank. He 
might easily be -mounted, but how got. out of the .bed of the 
stream. Ouly-by a -desperate., leap might he . reach the . plain 
above, and he might-fail in the efifort-^time might be- lost, when 
time and speed would be most-wanted. 

Iliad been troubled with this- thought. It need trouble me 
no longer. The “ crossing ” afforded easy, access either to or 
from the channel of the river — the verydhing I wanted. 

I was not slow to - profit by the. discovery. I turned back, 
and having released the rein, led my horse gently up to the 
break. 

Choosing a spot under the highest part of the bank, I fasten- 
ed him as^before, and there- left him. 

I now„ moved with more ease and confidence, but with in- 
creased^ caution. I was getting too. near to risk making the 
slightestmoise in the water. A single plash mights betray me. 

It was myjntention to, keep in the channel until I had passed 
the. point where the horses were- staked. By so. doing I should 
avoid xrossing the.- line of thejiorse-guards, and what was quite 
as-important, that of the -horses -themselves, for I was- equally 
apprehensive of being -discovered- by the latter. Once- inside 
their -circle, they would take* no. notice of me, for,, doubtless, 
there would be w other .Indians within- sight, and I trusted ta my 
welHcounterfeited^emblance of savagery to deceive tne eyes of 
the '-equine sentinels. 


UP STREAM. 


451 


A/lid not wish to go farbeyond their line. That would bring 
front of the.camp itself, too near its fires and its- idle 

groups. 

I had-noticed before starting, that there was a broadJoelt be- 
tween the -place occupied by the .men, and that- where their 
horses were., staked. This “ neutral” ground was little used 
by the_camp-loungers, and-somewhere on the edge of it I was 
desirous of making m y^entree. 

Lsucceeded to fny utmost- wishes. Closely hugging the -bank, 

I .passed the browsing, mustangs ; under their very; noses I 
glided past, for I .could hear them, munching the herbage right 
over me, but sa silently did luteal along, that neither- snort nor 
fcoof-stroke-heralded my. advance. 

In a few minutes I was sufficiently, beyond them to, make a 
halt. L-raised myjiead^r-slowly and gently I raised it — till my 
eyes were ..above the . level of the prairie slope. No one was 
near. I could -.see the swartk-savages grouped around their 
fires, but they were an-hundrecL yards off, or more. They were 
capering and-talking and- laughing ; but no. ear was bent, and 
no-eye seemed -turned towards me. No one was -near. 

I grasped the bank with my . hands, and . drew myself out. - 
Slowly and silently Lascended, like some .demon from the dark 
trap-door of a- stage, on my. knees I reached the level of the 
turf, and then gently- rising to my feet, I stood: erect within the 
limits of the Indian camp, to all. appearance as^complete a 
savage as any^upon the. ground ! 


452 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


CHAPTER XCII. 

COUP D’fflIL of the camp. 

For some. minutes I stood motionless as a statue. I stirred 
ueither hand nor. foot, lest the. movement should catch the eye, 
either of the horse-cmards or those moving around the fires. I 
had already donnecf)jy*plumed- head-dress before, climbing out of 
the.channel. My first thought was tQ,-replace mv, pistols in the 
belt behind my back. The movement was-stealthily made; and 
with like stealthy action, I- suffered the -mantle of jaguar-skins 
to drop from my shoulders, and -bang to its, full length. I had 
saved the .robe from getting wet, and its ample skirt now served 
me in -concealing my soaked , breech-cloth, aa-well as the upper 
half of my -leggings. These and theumoccasins^were, of course, 
saturated with*water, but I had- not much-uneasiness- about-that. 
In a -prairie camp, and upon the- banks of a deep stream, an 
Indian with wetdeggings could not be a spectacle to excite sus- 
picion. There would be many -.reasons why my . counterpart 
might- choose to immerse his copper-colored, extremities in the 
river. Moreover, the ..buckskin, dressed Indian-fashion, was 
speedily casting the. water; it would soon. drip dry, or, even if 
wet, would .scarce be^observed under .such a light. 

The -.spot -where I had “ landed, ”_chanced to be- one of the 
least -conspicuous iu the -whole area of the camp. I was just 
between--two lights — the red-glare of the. camp-fires and the 
mellower beams of the_jnoon ; and the -atmospherio. confusion 
occasioned by the.meeting of the distinct kinds of. light. favored 
me, by-producing a species of optical illusion. It was but-slight, 
and I could easily b&seen from the-centre of the. camp, but-not 
with sufficient-distinctness for my disguise to be- penetrated by 


coup d’ceil of the ca.mp. 


453 


any. one. Therefore, it was. hardly ..probable that, any of the 
savages would approach, or .Trouble their heads a^out me. I 
might pass forgone of- themselves indulging in a solitary saunter 
vielding_himself to a moment of abstraction or melancholy. I 
well-enough- acquainted with-Jndian life to know that there 
was nothing.c^re or. unlikely in this behavior. Such- conduct 
was perfectly en regie. 

1 did not remain long on that spot — only long enough to 
catch the salient,. features of the scene. I saw there ^yere many 
fires, and around each was grouped a number of human forms — - 
some squatted, some standing. The night was .cold enough to 
make them draw near to the- ..burningjogs, and for this- reason 
but. few werei wandering about — a fortunate circumstance for me. 

There was one fire-larger than the^rest. From its-dimensions 
it might be -termed a.,bonfire, such as is-made by the flattering 
and flunkcyish peasanty of. Old World lands when they welcome 
home the squire and the. count. It was placed -directly in, front 
of the solitaryTent, and not a -dozen paces from its entrance. 
Its blazing pile gave forth a flood of red light that. reached even 
to the -spot where I^stood, and flickered in my face. I even 
fancied I could feel its warmth upon my cheeks. 

Around this fire were many forms of. men, all of them -stand- 
ing up. I -could- see the faces of those who were upon its far- 
ther ^ide, but- only the figures of those on the -nearer. The for- 
mer I could see with almost as much distinctness as if I had 
been-close- beside them. I could trace the- lineaments of their 
features — the painted devices on their breasts and faces — the 
style of their habiliments. 

The -sight of these last some whaU astonished me. I had 
expected to see j’ed-skinned jvarriors, in leggings, -moccasins 
and breech-cloth — with heads naked or ^plumed, and shoulders 
draped under brown robes of -buffalo-skin. Some, such there 
were, but not^all of them were so costumed. On the contrary, 
I beheld savages shrouded in-serapes and cloaks off broadcloth. 


454 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


with xalzoneros on their legs, and upon their heads huge. hats of 
black glaz^— regular ^Mexican^sombreros 1 In short, I beheld 
numbers of them in full-Mexican costume ! 

Others again were dressed somewhat in a military fashion, 
with helmets or stiff .shakos, ill-fitting uniform coats of red or 
blue. cloth, oddly-contrasting with the brown buckskin that 
^covered their legs and feet. 

With some astonishment I beheld these “ fancy dresses,” but 
my .surprise passed away when I reflected. as to- who were the 
men before me, and whence they had lately, come^-where they 
had been, and on- what errand. It was-no travesty, but a scene 
of actual life. The savages were clad in the- spoils they had 
captured from-civilization. 

I need not have beem-at such pains with my toilette. Under 
an y^ guise I coulcLscarce have looked^ odd in the. midst of such a 
motley,jcrew. Even my-own-uniform might have-passed, muster 
■ — all except th^ color of my skin. 

Fortunately, a- few of the. band still preserved their native 
costume — a few^appeared in full-paint and plumes, else I should 
have beer \rtoo IndianAon such a company ! 

It- cost not a minute to note these- peculiarities, nor did I 
stay to- observe them minutely. My eyes were in search of 
Isolina. 

I cast inquiring glances on all sides. I- scrutinized the groups 
around the different fires. I saw other women, whom I knew to 
be captives, but Lsaw- not her. 

I scanned their, forms, and the faces of those who w'ere turned 
towards me. A- glance would have been- enough. I could 
easily have, recognized her face under the fire light— under^any 
light: It was-not-before me. 

“ In the-tent — in the tent. She must be-there.” 

I hastened to move away from the spot where I had hitherto 
been standing. My eye, quickened by the necessity of action, 
had fallen upon the copse that covered the entire 'background of 


A FRIENDLY ENCOUNTER. 


455 


^ie camp. At a glance I detected the advantage offered by its 
shadowyvcover. 

TheAent was, placed --close to the, edge of the timber ; and in 
front of thejteht, as already, stated, was the great fire. Plainly, 
this was the^gravitating point — the centre oLmotive and motion. 

If aught oL interest was to be enacted, there would lie the 
scene. In theJodge, or. near it,, would she be found. Certainly 
she must be there ; and there I resolved to seek her. 


CHAPTER XCIII. 

A FRIENDLY ENCOUNTER. 

Just then the shrill voice of a, crier pealed through the camp, 
and I observed an unusual movement. I could not make out 
what the man said, but the.peculiar intonation told that he was 
uttering some signal or -summons. Something of- interest was 
about to transpire. 

Thelndians now commenced, circling around the blazing pile, 
meeting and passing each other, as if threading the. mazes of 
some silent, and-soleram.dance. Others were seem hastening 
from .distant parts of the camp, as if to. observe the- actions of 
those .arouud the fire ; orjoin with, them in the movement. 

I did not. wait to., watch them. Thed attention thus. occu- 
pied gave. me an .opportunity of . reaching the. copse unobserved, 
and without further ado, I startedAowards it. 

I walkecLslowly, and with an,assumed air of careless indiffer- 
ence. I xounterfeited the -Comanche walk^not that-dold. free 
port, the magnificent and inimitable stride, so ..characteristic of 
Chippewa and .Shawano, Huron, andJraquois — but the shuffling, 
gingery, step of an English jockey, for .such in. reality is the gaifr 
of theJComanche Indian, when a-foot. 


4:50 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


I must have, played my .part well. A savage crossing from 
the horse-guards towards the great fire passed near me, and 
hailed me byname. 

“ Wakono /” cried he. 

“ Que^cosa? Well — what matter ?” I replied in Spanish, 
imitating as well as I could the Indian voice amLacceut. It 
was a venture, but I was. taken at a short, and could not well 
remain silent. 

The man appeared some little, surprised at being addressed 
in the language of Mexico. Nevertheless, he-understood it, and 
made -rejoinder. 

“You. hear thee- summons, Wakono? Why do you not 
come, forward ? The. council meets. Hissooroyo is already 
there.” 

I understood^what was said, more from the Indiarys gestures 
than his speech, though the words “summons,” “council,” aud 
the name “ Hissooroyo ”... helped me to .comprehend his meaning. 
I chanced ta know the -Oomauche- epithet for the two first, and 
also that -Hissooroyo (the Spanish wolf) was the Indian appella- 
tion of the Mexicam-renegade. 

wc 

Though I understood what was said, I was. not prepared with 
a reply. .1 dared not risk themnswer inJSpauish, for I..kaew u$f 
the^extent of Wakono’s proficiency in the Andalusian tongue. 

I felt myself in a dilemma, and the importunate ..savage — nc 
doubt some, friend of- Wakono himself — appeared determined to" 
stick to me. How was I to get-rid of him ? 

A happy idea came to my relief. Assuming an air of ex- 
treme..dignity, and as though I-did not wish to be disturbed ii. 
my. meditations, Lraised my hand and waved the man a parting 
salute. At the same time, I turned my head and walked slowly 
away. 

The Indian accepted the. conge, and moved off, bu-t evidently 
with an air of-^eluctance. As I glanced back over my shoulder, 
I could see him starting from the spot with a-hesitating step, 


A FRIENDLY ENCOUNTER. 457 

no doubt somewhat astonished at" the strange .behavior of his 
friend. Wakono. 

I did not look back again, until I had placed myseii under 
the shadow of the timber. Then I turned to reconnoitre. My 
friend had jcoutinued on to the fire. I saw him just enteriug 
among the crowd that circled around the great fire. 

Screened from observation by theshadow, I could now pause 
and .reflect. The trifling .incident that had caused me some 
apprehension, had also. helped me to some useful knowledge. 
First, I learned my ..own name. Second, that there was a coun- 
cil about to take place — and thirdly, that the renegade, Hissoo- 
royo, had something to do with this council. 

This was .knowledge of importance combined with my pre- 
vious Information, everything was now made clear. This council 
could be no other than the jury-trial between the renegade and 
the yet nameless- chief ; the same that was to .decide to which 
belonged the right of-property in my-betrothed. 

It was about to meejtv-it had not assembled as yet. Then 
had I arrived iu time ; neither white savage or red savage had 
yet come into -possession — neither bad dared to lay hands on 
the coveted and. priceless gem. 

Isolina was still- -safe — thus singularly preserved from brutal 
contact. These dogs in the manger, their mutual jealousy, had 
proved her protection ! I was consoled by the thought — strange 
source of. consolation ! 

I was in. time, but where was she? From my new position, 
I had a stillJbetter view of the camp, its fires, and its denizens 
— she was-nowhere to be seen ! 

In the lodge then — she must certainly be. there — or — a new 
thought occurred to me — she may be kept apart from the otj^er 
captives ? — in the .copse — she may bg concealed in the -copse 
until the-sentence be. pronounced ? 

This last opujecture brought along with it hopes and resolves. 
[ determined to ..search the copse. If I should find her there 

30 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


m 

cay nmprise would be easy indeed ; at all-events, easier than 1 
had. anticipated. Though guarded by the., savages, I should 
rescue her from ..their, grasp. The lives of six men— perhaps 
twice thatmumber-^-were under my- belt. The odds of unarmed 
numbers would be nothing against the deadly, bullets of my 
revolvers, and I saw that most of the, savages had laid aside 
their weapons, confident in the . security of their camp. 

But I might find her alone, or perhaps with a single jailor. 
The meeting of the council favored the supposition. The men 
would all be* there — some to take-part, others interested in 
the result, or- merely from- curiosity to watch the. proceedings. 
Tes r all of them would have an*-interest in the issue — too*surcly ; 
®dl. The barbarous custom of these savage brutes at that- mo- 
^ifcnt came to my remembrance. — 

I stayed no longer ta. reflect, but gliding into the.gr^ve, com- 
<L.v«nced my. search for the captive. 

, The ground was favorable to my progress. There was not 
i^uch underwood, and the trees grew thinly. I could easily 
pass -amongst them without the necessity of crouching, and 
without making noise. The silent tread of the moccasin was in 
my-favor, as also the. dark foliage that, stretched overhead, hid- 
ing the^sky from my >view. 

The chief timber of the copse was the-pecan-hickory — almost 
an evergreen — and the trees were still in full leaf, only here 
and there, where the trunks stood far apart, did tho-moonbeams 
strike through the thick foliage. 

The-surface of the ground was., shrouded from her -light, and 
the narrovt-aisles.through which I -passed were as-dark as if no 
moon had beemshining. 

/There was still- light , enough to jreveal some^horrid' scenes. 
0 Heavens 1 myjieart bleeds at the remembrance. 

I was^wrong in my^conjecture. The men had- not all gone 
to. the -council ; the.captive^women were, not- all by the-eamp- 
tires. I behehUpassion in its most- brutal form^-red 'ruffiaDS 


A FRIENDLY ENCOUNTER. 


459 


lolling in the_„ bush, beside their helpless., victims-^women— fair 
white women, with drooping heads and listless air, wounded,-- di- 
shevelled,, weeping ! 0 Heaven! My heart,, recoils at the 

remembrance!. 

It recoiled at the sight— it burned with indignation. At 
every turn did it prompt me to draw knife or pistol. At every 
step my fingers itched to immolate a hideous paint-besmeared 
brute — to slay a ‘‘noble ” savage. 

I was restrained only by my own desperate situation — by my 
appreheusions for th^, safety of Isolina — now more acute than 
ever. What horrid-, imaginings crowded into my brain — begot by 
the barbarouscdrama that was being^enacted around me,, shame- 
lesslyJoefore myiace — \under rnywery^eyes. 

The monsters too earnestly occupied with their, coarse 
caresses, ..took no. heed of me ; and I passed on without remark 
or interruption. 

I threaded the^. pathways of the grove one after another 
gliding through as rapidly as the path would permit. I entered 
every aisle and glade. I searched everywhere^. even to the 
farthest limits , of the woods. I~saw more men-^more. weeping 
women — more red ruffianism. I saw naught of her for whom 
I searched. 

“ In the tent, then-A-she must be there.” 

I turned my: face towards the, lodge, and moving with stealthy 
step, soon arrived among the trees that stood in the'Year. I 
halted near the. edge, and separating the leaves with my hands 
peered -cautiously through. I had- no need to. search further. 
Isolina-wasjbefbre ray eyes. 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


CHAPTER XCIY 

A SPY IN THE COUNCIL. 

Yes,- there was my- betrothed — within, sight, within hearing, 
almost within reach of my. hauds; and I dared not touch, I 
dared not speak, I scarce dared look upon her. My fingers trem- 
bled among the -leaves; my heartr rose and. fell; I could feel 
within my breast its strokes rapid and irregular; I could hear 
its sonorous'vibration. 

It was not at the first glance I saw Isolina. On looking 
through the leaves th e,,coup d'ceil was a scene that quite- aston- 
ished me, and for a while, occupied my attention. Since I had 
last -gazed upon the . great fire, the grouping around it had 
undergone an. entire change. A new tableau was presented, 
that for the-moment held me under a spell ofi-surprise. 

The fire no longer blazed, or only slightly and when, stirred. 
The logs had burned into coals, and now yielded a fainter light, 
but one more-red and.-garish. It was steady nevertheless, and 
the-position of the pile rendered it .strong enough to- illumine 
the camp around to its utmost limits. 

The fire was still encircled by savages, but no longer stand- 
ing nor grouped irregularly, as I had before observed them. 
On the contrary, they were seated, or rather squatted, at equal 
distances from each other, and forming a ring that girdled the 
huge mound of embers. 

There were about twenty of these men — I did not' count 


A SPY IN THE COUNCIL. 


461 


thorn — but I observed that , all were in their -native - costume — ■ 
loggings, and breech-cloth to the waist,. nothing above* save the 
armlets and shell -ornaments of the nose, ears and neck. All 
were profusely --painted with chalk, ochre and vermilion. Be 
vond^doubt 1 was looking upon the “ council.” 

The other Indians — they in “ fancy dresses w — were still upon 
the_ground, but they stood, behind, retired a pace or two from 
the- circle, in groups of two, three or four, talking in low. mutter- 
ings. Others were moving about, still at a greater distance 
from the fire. 

My, observation of all these, features of the scene, did not 
occupy 4en seconds of time — -just so long as my eyes were get- 
ting accustomed to the light. At the. end of that interval my 
glance-rested upon Isolina, and there became fixed. 

In the-chain of Indians that. encircled the fire there was a break 
—an interval of ten or a dozen feet. It was directly in front of the 
lodge, and -above the fire — for the -ground gently sloped from the 
tent towards the stream. >?In-this spot the-captive was-seated. 
Her, position was. exactly between the lodge and the fire, and a 
little retired -behind the. circle of the council. The. tent inter" 
vening. between her and my. position had prevented me from 
seeing her at first. 

^ She was half-seated, half-reclining upon a robe of wolf skins. 
I saw that her arms were free.'- I saw that her limbs were bound. 
Her back was to the tent — her face turned -towards the council 
I could, not see it. 

To - recognize my betrothed, I did not need to look upon her 
face. Her matchlessdbrm, .outlined against the red embers, was 
easily, identified. The full round .curve of the neck; the oval 
lines of the-head; the majestic sweep of the- shoulders; the-arms 
smooth and symmetrical ; all these were- familiar to my eyes, for 
oft had they_dwelt on.them in admiration. I could not be mis- 
taken. The- form before me was that-graven upon my heart; it 
was'Isolina’s. 


*62 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


There was another salient-point in this singular tableau, that 
would not -escape observation. Beyond the fire, and directly 
opposite to . where Isolina wa& placed, I saw another well- 
known object-^ the^white'^steed ! lie was. not staked there, but 
haltered and_held inuhand by one of the Indians. He must have 
been lately brought upon the ground ; for, from neither of Tirj^ 
former points of. observation, had I noted him. He, like his 
mistress, was to be-put on trial — his. ownership was also matter 
of dispute. 

There was in sight one more object that, interested me. Xot 
with friendly interest did I- regard it, but with, disgust and 
indignation. 

Not^eated in the council-ring, not standing among the idle 
groups, but-npart from all, I beheld- Hissoo-rozo, the renegade. 
Savage as .were the red warriors, .fiend-like as they appeared 
with their paint-smeared visages, not one looked so-savage or 
fiend-like asdie. 

The features of this man were naturally bad; but the paint — 
for he had adopted this with every other vile custom of barba- 
rian life^-rendered their . expression positively ferocious. The 
device- upon his forehead was a . death’s head and cross-bones, 
done in white chalk, and. upon this-appeared the well imitated 
semblance of a bleedng scalp — the. appropriate symbols of a 
cruel disposition. 

There was something.unnatural in a.white skin thus-disfigured 
— for the natural complexion was not hidden. Here and. there 
it could be-perceived forming the ground of the -motley^ elabora- 
tion — its pallid, hue in strange,, contrast with the deeper colors 
that-daubed it. It was-not the canvasfor such a picture. 

Yet there the. picture was in red and yellow, black, white and 
blur; there-stood the^deep-dyed villain. 

I saw-not his, rival. I looked for him, but saw him not. 
Perhaps he was one of those who stood around. Perhaps ho 
had not yet come up. He was the^ 0 n of the great chief— per* 


THE COUNCIL IN SESSION. 


4C3 


naps he was inside the. lodge. The last was the most probable 
conjecture. 

The great, calumet was ^brought forward, and lit by the lire. 
It was passed around the circle, from, mouth to mouth, each 
savage .satisfying himself with a single draw from the tube. I 
knew that this was the inauguration of the council. The tria 
was about to proceed. 


CHAPTER XCV. 

THE COUNCIL IN SESSION. 

The situation into which I had. chanced, could not have been 
better- had I deliberately chosen it. I had under my eyes the 
council-fire and. council, the. group around — in short, the whole 
area of the camp. 

What was of equal importance, I could see without being 
seen. Along the . edge of the copse there extended a narrow 
belt of the shadow,, similar to that which had.favored me while 
in the channel, and produced by a -like cause, for the stream and 
the selvedge of the grove were. parallel to each other. The moon- 
beams fell obliquely upon the. grove, and. under the thick. foliage 
of the -pecans I was well-screened from- her light behind, while 
the-lodge covered me from the glare of the fire in front. 

I could not have been better placed for my purpose. I saw 
the -advantage of the position, and resolved, therefore, to abide 
upon it. 

The-observations and -reflections thus -given im detail occupied 
me but a few minutes of time. Thought is-.quiek, and at. that 
crisis-mine was- more tham usually on the alert. Almost -instan- 
taneously- did I . perceive the. points that most- interested imj, 
or had- reference to mjL plans — almost instantaneously I ftad 


464 : 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


mastered the situation, and I next bent my mind upon, how ter 
take advantage of it. 

I saw there was but one way to proceed: — ray original scheme 
-must be .carried out ; under so many eyes, there was not the 
slightest -chance that the .captive could be -stolen away — she 
must be taken -openly, and by a- bold stroke. Of- this was 1 
convinced. 

The question arose, when should I make the attempt? At 
that. moment? She was not ten paces from where I stood! 
Could I rush forward, and with my knife setjree her limbs ? 
Might we then get off before the savages could fling themselves 
upon us ? 

Hopeless-fimpossible. She was. too near dhem — she was too 
near the -renegade who. claimed her as his* property. He was 
standing al most-over her — within the-distance of a single- leap. 
In his. belt was the long triangular -blade, the Spanish- knife. 
He could cut me-down ere I could have-severtd a -cord of her 

s_^ 

fastenings. The- attempt would- fail. Success was- hopeless — 
impossible. I must-wait for a-better opportunity, and I waited. 

I -remembered- Rube’s- last word of counsel, not ta act too 
hastily ; and-his reasons, that if I must make a “ desprit strike 
fur it,” to_ leave the grand coup to the last moment. The circum- 
stances could be no worse. then, than now. 

Under the influence of this idea I checked my impatience, and 
waited. 

I watched Hissoo-rozo — I watched the squatted forms around 
the fire — I watched straggling groups behind them — in turns my 
eyesjvandered from one to the other. 

At intervals they rested upomAsolina. 

Up to this moment, I had. not -seen hep- countenance. 1 saw 
only the-reverse-of that beautiful.- image so deeply graven upon 
myJieart. But even then, under that suspense of, peril, strange 
thoughts were -passing within me. I felt a. singular longing 
to look upon her face. I remembered th Q-herredero. 


THE COUNCIL IN SESSION. 


465 


It. pleased. fortune to, smile upon me. So many little incidents 
were. occurring in my favor, that I began to. believe the fates 
propitious, and my hopes of success were growing stronger 
apace. Just then, the captive turned her head, and her face 
wasu towards me. 

There was- no mark on that fair brow — that soft cheek was 
without a scar — the delicate skin was intact, smooth and 
diaphanous as ever. The herredero had beem merciful ! 

Perhaps something had occurred to. interrupt or hinder him 
from his- horrid work ? Would that the matador had met with 
a similar interruption ! I could not tell — those profuse clusters 
covered all — neck, bosom and shoulders were hidden under the 
dark dishevelment. 

I could not - tell, but I - did not- dare to hope. Cyprio had 
seen the, blood ! It was but a momentary glance, and her face 
• was again, turned away. At intervals ahe repeated it, and I saw 
that she looked in other directions. I could note the uneasiness 
of her manner. I could tell why those glances were given. I 
knew her design. Oh, for one word, in her hearing — on© whisper ! 

It might not- be — she was toa closely watched. Jealous eyes 
wfr©<upon her — savage hearts were gloating over her beauty. 
Xoiword could have reached, her that would not have been 
heard by others — by., all around the fire — for the silence was 
profound. The “ council ” had not yet essayed to speak. 

The stillness was at length broken by the voice of a ,crier, 
who in a shrill tone proclaimed that the “ council was in 
session.” 

There was something so ceremonious in the whole proceedings, 
and every movement was made with, such regularity, that but 
for the open air, the fire, the wild savage costumes and fierce 
painted faces, I might have fancied .myself in the presence of a 
civilized court, and witnessing a trial by jury. It was, in effect, 
just- such a trial, though -judge there was none. The members 
of the jury were themselves the judges, for in the simplicity of 

20 * 


4G6 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


such primitive^ litigation, eacli was presumed to understand the 
law. without an interpreter. Pleaders, too, were equally absent. 
Each party ^-plaintiff and defendant — was- expected to plead his 
own case. Such is the -simple fashion in the high court of 
the prairies — aJashion which might- elsewhere be adopted with 
advantage. 

The name of Hissoo-rozo pealed loud upon the air. The crier 
was calliug him into court — another parallel with the customs of 
civilization. 

Three- times the name was pronounced, at each repetition in a 
shriller and louder tone than before. 

The man might have spared his voice. He who was sum- 
moned was upon the spot, and ready to answer. Before the 
echo died away, the renegade uttered a loud- response, and 
stepping to an op^n space within the ring, halted, drew himself 
up to his full- height, folded his arms, and in this attitude stood 
waiting. 

At this- crisis, the thought occurred to me,- whether 1 should 
rush forward, and at once decide the fate of myself and my 
betrothed. The seated warriors appeared to be all unarmed ; 
and the renegade, - whose hand I most regarded, was now- further 
off, having gone round to the opposite side of the fire. The 
situation was more favorable, and for the moment I stood- bend- 
ing upon the spring. But my eye fell upon the spectators in the 
back-ground. Many of them were- directly in the way I should 
have to take. I saw that many of them carried. weapous, either 
in their- hands or upon their persons, and that Hissoo-rozo him- 
self was still too. near. 

Bcould never fight my way against such odds. I could not 
break such a line. Jt would be, madness to attempt it. Rube's 
counsel was ringing in my ears; and once more 1 afandoued the 
rash design. 


THE RENEGADE CLAIMS HIS CAPTIVES. 


467 


CHAPTER X3YI. 

THE RENEGADE CLAIMS HIS CAPTIVES, 

There was an interval of silence — a dramatic pause — that 
lasted for more than a minute. It was. ended by one of the 
council rising to his feet, and, by a gesture, inviting Hissoo-rozo 

to. speak. 

The renegade began : 

“ Red warriors of the Hietan ! Brothers 1 What I have to 
say -before the council will not require many words. I claim 
yonder Mexican girl as my -captive, and therefore as my. own. 
Who~denies my -right? I claim the white horse as mine — my 
prize, ^fairly taken.” 

The speaker paused, as if to wait for further commands from 
the council. 

“Hissoo-rozo lias-spoken his. claim to the Mexican maiden 
and the white-steed. He has not said upon what right he rests 
it. Let him declare his right in presence of the council 1” 

This was said by the same Indian who had made the gesture, 
and who appeared to direct the proceedings. He was not- act- 
ing by any superior authority which he may have possessed, but 
merely by reason of hisjbeing the oldest of the party. Among 
the Indians, -age gives precedence. 

“ Brothers !” said Hissoo-rozo, in obedience to the command, 
“my claim is just. Or that you are to be the judges. I know 
your true hearts — you will not shut them against justice. I 
need not read to you your own law, that he whp makes a cap- 
tive has thejright to keep it — tado with it as te will. This is 
the Jaw of your tribe — of my tribe as well ; for .yours is mine." 


468 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


Gusts of- approbation caused a momentary- interruption in the 
speech. 

“ Hietans !” resumed the speaker, “ my skin is while, but mj 
heart is the-color of your own. You did me the honor to adopt 
me into your nation. You honored me, by making me first a war- 
rior, and afterwards a-war-chief. Have I ever given you cause 
taregret what you have done? Have Lbetrayed your trust V' 

A volley of exclamations indicated a response in the negative. 

“ I have confidence, then, in your love of justice and truth. I 
have no fear that the color of my skin will blind your eyes ; for 
you all know the color of my- heart.” 

Fresh gusts of approbation followed this adroit stroke. 

“ Then, brothers, listen to my cause 1 I -claim the maiden 
and the..horse. I need not tell where they were found and how, 
Your own eyes were witness of their capture. There has been 
talk of a-doubt as to who- made it ; for many horsemen were in 
the pursuit. I deny that there is any doubt. My lazo was first 
over the- head of the horse — was first., tightened around his 
throat-^jfirst. brought him to a stand. To take the horse was 
to-*take the. rider. It was- my .deed — >both are my- captives. I 
claim- both as.my property. Who is he that disputes my claim ? 
Let him stand-forth I” 

Having delivered this challenge with a defiant emphasis, the 
speaker fell back into his former attitude ; and *once more fold- 
ing his arms, remained silent and immobile. 

Another, pause followed, which was again terminated by a 
sign from the old warrior who had first spoken. His gesture 
was directed to the crier, who, the moment after, raising his 
loud, shrill voice, called out : 

t>Wakono P 

Thu name caused me to-start as if struck by an arrow. It 
was-my own appellation. wascWakono ! 

It was pronounced thrice — each time louder ^han the .pre 
ceding — 


THE KENEGADE CLAIMS HIS CAPTIVES. 


469 


“ Wabono ! Wakono ! Wakono !” 

A»Iight- flashed- upon me. Wabono was the. rival /claim, ant 
ITe whose, breech-cloth was.. around my.. hips, whose, robe huug 
from my .shoulders, whose plumed bonnet, adorned my, head, 
whose, pigments disfigured myJace — he of the red hand upon 
his .breast, and the cross upon his brow — was no other than 
Wabono ! 

I cannot describe the singular sensation I felt at the discovery. 
I was in a perilous position, indeed. My fingers trembled among 
the leaves. I released the„ branchlets, and let them close up 
before my face. I dared not trust myself to look forth. 

For some moments I stood still and ^silent, but not without 
trembling. I could not,, steady my nerves under such a dread 
agitation. 

I listened, buUookedjnot. There was an interval of. breath- 
less-silence. No one. seemed to stir or speak. They were 
waiting the effect of the summons. 

Once more the voice of the crier was heard, pronouncing in 
triple repetition — 

“ Wakono ! Wabono ! Wakono I” 

Again followed an interval of. silence ; but I could- hear low 
mutterings of surprise and disappointment, as soon as it was per- 
ceived that the Indian did not answer to his name. 

I. alone knew the ^reason of his— demissness. Lknew that 
Wakono -could -not — the true Wakono; that his counterfeit 
would mot,€ome. 

Though I had. undertaken to, personate the savage chieftain, 
for this,. act in the drama I was not -prepared. The stage must 
wait. 

Even at -that moment I was sensible of the-ludierousness of 
the situation. So extreme was it, thaLeven at that moment of 
direst-peril I felt a half inclination for laughter ! But the feel* 
ing was easily -checked ; and once more- parting the branches, I 
yentured to-look forth. 


470 


THE WAK-TKAIL. 


I saw- there was some confusion. Wakono had been, reported 
“missing.” The .members of the council still, preserved both 
their,, seats and stoical composure, but the younger warriors 
behind were uttering- harsh, ejaculations, and moving about from 
place to place, with that restless-air that betokens at once sur- 
prise and disappointment. 

At this- crisis, an. Indian was seen emerging from the tent7 
lie was a man of somewhat -venerable aspect, though, venerable 
more from age than any positive expression of virtue. His 
checks were- furrowed by time, and his hair white as bleached 
flax-^m rare sight among Indians. 

There was. something. about this-individual that bespoke him 
a .person of authority. Wakono was the- son of a chief — the 
chief, then, should be am old .man. This must be- he ? 

I had no-doubt of it, and my -conjecture proved to be correct. 

The, white-haired Indian stepped forward to the edge of the 
ring, and with a waive of his hand commanded-silence. 

He was instantly obeyed. Murmurings ceased, and all placed 
themselves in fixed attitudes to listen. 


CHAPTER XCYI1. 

SPEECHES IN COUNCIL. 

“Hietans 1 began the- chief, for such in reality was the old 
Indian. My. children, and. brothers in council 1 I, appeal to 
you to stay -judgment in this matter. I am your chief, but I 
claim no-consideration for that. Wakono is my son, but for-him 
I ask no favor. I but deman(pjustice and right — such as would 
be given to the. humblest in our tribe. I ask no more for my 
son Wakono. Wakono is a brave warrior — who among you 
does not know it? His shield is garnished with many atrophies 


SPEECHES IN COUNCIL. 


471 


taken from the hated pale face — his leggings $re fringed with 
scalps of the Utah and .Cheyenne— at his heels drag the long 
locks of the Pawnee and Arapaho. Who will, deny that Wa- 
kouo — my, son Wakono is a. brave warrior ? 

A murmur of assent was the response to the paternal ap- 
peal. 


“ The ..Spanish .Wolf, too, is a .warrior — a brave warrior. 1 
deny it not. He is stout of heart and strong of arm. He has 
taken -many scalps from the enemy of the Hietan. I honor him 
for liis-achievements ; who among us does not ?” 

A general chorus of-grunts and cther^ejaeulations, from both 
council and spectators,- responded to this interrogatory. 

The .response,, both in -tone and manner, was strongly in the 
affirmative : and I could -tel 1 by.. this r that the renegade was the 
favoyite. 

The old chief also perceived that such was the prevailing sen- 
timent, and despite his pretensions to fair play, he was evidently 
a little -nettled -at the reply. The -father of Wakono was uu- 
doubtedly.no .Brutus. 

After a momentary pause, he resumed speech, but in a tone 
entirely altered. He was now painting the. re verse side of 
Ilissoo-rozo’s portrait, and as he threw in the darker touches, it 
was with evident pique and hostility. 

“ I honor the- Spanish Wolf,” he continued, “I honor him for 
bis^strong arm and his. stout heart. I have said so ; but hear 
me, ITietans— hear me. children and brothers 1 there are, two of 
every ...kind — there is a night and a day — a winter and a sum- 
mer a .green prairie and a. desert plain, and like these is the 

toDgue of Hissoo rozo. It speaks two ways, that differ as light 
from the darkness—it isalouble— it -forks like the. tongue of the 
rattle serpent— it ismot to be -believed .” 

The chief -ceased speaking, and the .Spanish Wolf wa& per- 
mitted to make reply. He did not attempt to-defehd himself 
from the.. charge of the “double tongue.” Perhaps he-kne\1 


472 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


that the. accusation was just enough, and he hai^no reason to 
tremble for h/s .popularity on ihat-score. lie must have been a 
great liar indeed to have, excelled, or even equalled the most 
ordinary- story-teller in the Comanche nation, for the -menda- 
city of these .Indians would have been a match for -Sparta 
herself. 

The renegade did not even deny the assertion. He seemed 
to be^ponfident indiis.case. He simply replied. 

“If the tongue of Hissoo-rozo is double, let not the council 
rely upon his word. Let witnesses be called — there are. many 
who are ready to. testify to the truth of what Hissoo-rozo has 
spoken.” 

“First, hear Wakono !-det Wakono be heard l-*- 1 where is 
Wakono ?” 

These demands were made by warriors, members of the- coun- 
cil, who. spoke almost-simultaneously. 

“ Once more the crier’s voice was heard calling “-Wakono !” 

“ Brothers 1” again spoke the chief, “ it is for this that I 
would stay your judgment. My son is not here — he went back 
upon the trail ; and has not returned. I know not his purpose. 
My heart is in doubt, but not in fear. Wakono is a strong 
warrior, and can take -care of himself. He will not be long ab- 
sent. He must soon .return. For this I ask you to delay the 
judgment.” 

A murmur of disapprobation followed this -avowal. The. allies 
of the Spanish Wolf evidently mustered stronger than theJrShds 
of the youngs -chief. The .renegade once more ..addressed the 
council. 

“ What trifling would this be, warriors of the Hietau ? Two 
suns have-gone down, and this- question is not decided ! I ask 
only-justice. By our laws the judgment cannot stand over. 
The -captives must belong to some one. I claim them as mine, 
and F offer witnesses to prove my right. Wakono has no claim, 
else why is he not here to avow it. He has no proofs but Mg 

F w 


SPEECHES IN COUNCIL. 


473 


own word — he is ashamed to stand before you without proof — 
that is why he is now absent, from the camp.” 

This - announcement produced a sensation, and I could per- 
ceive that the old chief partook equally with the others of the 
suspicion thus created. 

“ Who-says Wakono is in the camp?” inquired he, in a loud 
voice. 

An Jndian-stepped forth from the. crowd of spectators. Ire- 
cognized the- man whom I had- met crossing from the horse 
guard. 

‘MYakono is in the. camp,” repeated he, as he paused outside 
the circle. “I saw the young chief. I spake with him.” 

“ Where ?” 

“ Only now.” 

“-Where ?” 

The man-pointed to the scene of our accidental rencontre. 

“ lie was -going yonder,” said he, “ he went among the trees 
— I saw him no-more.” 

This~intelligence evidently-increased the -astonishment of- all. 
They could . not ..comprehend why Wakono should be upon the 
ground, and yet-uot come forward to assert his claim. Had he 
abandoned it altogether ? 

The father of the.elaimant appeared as much puzzled as any 
one. He made no attempt to explain the absence of his son. 
He could-not; He stood silent, and evidently in a state of mys- 
tification. 

Several now suggested that a. search be made for the absent 
warrior. It was proposed to send messengers throughout the 
camp-^to- search the-grove. 

blood -ran. cold as L listened to the .proposal, my knees 
trembled beneath me. I knew that if the grove should be 
searched, 1 would have no chance of remaining . longer concealed. 
Therjress of Wakono was .conspicuous — I saw that there was 
none, other jke it — no -other wore a mbe of -jaguar skins, and 


4 74 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


this would-betray me. Even the-paint could uot-avail, I should 
be led into the firelight. The- counterfeit would be easily de- 
tected. Lshould be. butchered upon the spot-^perhaps tortured 
for my- treatment of the true-Wakouo, which would soon become 
known. 

My apprehensions had reached the climax of acuteness, when 
they were suddenly relieved by some words from the Spanish 
Wolf. 

“ Why search for Wakono ?” cried he, “Wakono knows his 
own name ? it has been called, and loud enough. .Wakono has 
ears— surely he can hear for himself ; if he is in the camp. Call 
him again, if you will !” 

This proposition appeared reasonable. It was- adopted, and 
the crier once more-summoned the young chief by name. 

The voice, as all -perceived, could have been heard to the far- 
thest bounds of the .camp, and far beyond. 

Aniuterval was allowed, during which there reigned perfect 
silence, -every one bending his- ear to listen. There came no 
answer— ^-no Wakono appeared to the summons, 

“ Now,” triumphantly exclaimed the-renegade, “ is it not as 1 
said ? Warriors ! I demand you?, judgment.” 

There was no immediate reply. A long pause followed, dur- 
ing which no one spoke — either in the circle, or among the 
spectators. 

At length the oldest of the council rose^ — relit the calumet, 
and after taking a whiff from the tube, handed it to the Indiai\ 
seated on his left. This one in like manner passed it to the next 
and he to the next, until the pipe had made the circuit of thcA 
fire, and was returned to the old warrior who hath first smoked 
from it. The latter now laid aside the pipe, and in a formal 
manner, but in a voice inaudible to the .spectators, proposed the 
question. The vote was taken in rotation, aud was also de- 
livered sotto voce. The judgment only was pronounced aloud. 

The decision was ^singular, and somewhat' unexpected. The 


A ROUGH" COURTSHIP. 


475 


'Jury had been -movcd-by a strong bearing towards, equity, and 
aruamicable -adjustment, that might prove .acceptable ta-'&Il 
parties. 

Theborse was adjudged to Wakono-^the maiden was declared 
the property of the^Spanish Wolf ! 


CHAPTER XCYIII. 

A ROUGH COURTSHIP. 

TnF. decision appeared to give,, satisfaction to all. A grim 
smile upon his face testified that the renegade himself was 
pleased. How could he be otherwise ? He had certainly the 
best of the*~suit, for what was a beautiful horse to a beautiful 
woman, and such a. woman ? 

Even the white haired chief seemed satisfied — perhaps, of the 
two the old ravage Jockey, preferred the horse ? It might have 
been different had Wakono 'been upon the ground. I was 
much„ mistaken if -he would so tamely have acquiesced in the 
decision. 

Yes, the-. renegade was^atisfied — more than, that, he was 
rejoicedr His, bearing bespoke his„ consciousness of the posses- 
sion of arare and much-coveted thing. He was unable to con- 
ceal the .gratification he felt, and with an air of. triumph and 
exultation he approached the spot where the captive sat. 

As soon as the seutence was pronounced the Indians, who 
had been seated,, rose to their feet. The council was dismissed 
Some of the members strolled off on their own business, others 
remained by the great fire, mixing among their comrades, nc 
longer with the solemn gravity of councillors, but chatting, 
laughing, shouting, and gesticulating as glibly and gaily as if 
they had been so many French dancing masters. 


m 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


The-tiial and its objects .appeared to be at oncc> forgot tea. 
Neither plaintiff, defendant, non cause, seemed any longer to 
occupy the.. thoughts of any one. The horse had been delivered 
to a friend of Wakono ; the maiden to Hissoo-rozo, and the 
thing was settled and over. 

Perhaps, here and there some young brave, with a pain in 
his heart, may have bent wistful glances upon the lovely cap- 
tive. No doubt, there were many who looked with envious 
thoughts upon his Hissoo-rozo and his fortunes. 

After the council was over no one interfered — no one seem- 
ingly took any interest either in the renegade or his pale-faced 
squaw. They were left to themselves. 

And to me. From that moment my eyes and thoughts 
rested only on them. I saw no one else. I thought of nothing 
else. I watched but the “ wolf” and his victim. 

The old chief had returned into the tent. Isolina had been 
left alone. 

Only a. moment alone. Had it been.otherwise, I should- have 
sprung .forward. My finger had moved mechanically towards 
my kuife ; but there-was not time. In the next instant Hissoo- 
rozo stood beside her. He- addressed her in Spanish — he did 
not desire the others to understand what he said. Speakiug in 
this language there would be less danger. 

There was one who listened to every word. I listened ; not 
a syllable escaped. 

“Now!” began he, in an exulting tone. “ Now, Dona. 
Isolina de Yargas ! You have heard ? I know you understand 
the tongue in which the council has spoken — your native tongue 
- — ha 1 ha ! ha !” 

The brute was jeering her. 

“ You are-mine-^soul and body. mine — you have- heard ?” 

* I have heard,” was the reply, in a tone of. resignation ! 

“ And surely you are satisfied, are you not ? You should 
Do; I am white as yourself; I have ✓saved you from the 


A ROUGH COURTSHIP. 


477 


embrace of a red ludian. Surely you are- satisfied with the 
judgment ?” 

“ I aim^satisfied.” 

This was .- uttered iu the same tone of resignation. The 
answer somewhat surprised me. 

“ ’Tis a die !” responded the brutal monster. “You are play- 
ing false with me, sweet senorita. But yesterday you spoke 
words of. scorn — you would-scorn me still ?” 

“ I have- no power to scorn you. I am your captive.” 

“ Carrambo 1 you speak truth. You have no power either 
to scorn or refuse me — ha ! ha ! ha ! And as little do I care 
if you did. You may like me or not at your pleasure. Per- 
haps, you will take to me in time, as much as I may wish it ; 
bat that will be for your, consideration,, sweet senorita 1 Mean- 
while, you are mine— body and soul you are mine — -and I mean 
to treat you after my own fashion.” 

The coarse .vaunt caused my blood — already hot enough — to 
boil within my viens. I grasped the haft of my knife, and, like 
a tiger, stood cowering upon the spring. My intent was first to 
cut down the ruffian, and then set free the limbs of the captive 
with the blood-stained blade. 

'tys 

The chances were^still .against me. A score of savages were 
yet around the fire. Even should he fall at the first blow, I 
could not hope to get clear. 

But I could bear it no -longer, and would have- risked the 
chances atAhat moment had not my foot been- stayed by some 
words that followed. 

“Come !” exclaimed the renegade, speaking to his victim, 
and making sign for her to follow him. “ Come, -sweet seno- 
rita I This -place is too .public foreman and wife. I would 
talk with you -elsewhere— -I know where there are-, softer^ots 
for that - fair Jorm to_ recline upon— pretty, glades, and arbors, 
choice retreats within the . shadow of the grove. There, dear 
est, shall we retire. Vamos 


478 


TIIE WAR-TRAIL. 


Though hideous the signification of the mock poetic speed), I 
joyed at hearing it. It arrested my hand and limb, both of 
which were ready for action. It promised a better opportunity. 
With au effort, therefore, I. restrained myself, and resolved to 
wait. I listened for the reply of Isolina. I watched her a3 
well. I noted her every movement. I saw that she pointed to 
her limbs— to the thong fastenings around her ankles. 

“ How can I follow you ?” she inquired, in a calm voice, and 
in a tone of surprise. Surely that tone was feigned ? Surely 
she meditated some .design ? 

“True,” said the man, turning back and drawing the knife 
from his belt. “ Carrambo 1 I had not thought of that, but we 
shall soon 

He did not finish the sentence. He stopped in the middle of 
it, and in an attitude that betokened hesitation. In this atti- 
tude he remained awhile, gazing into the eyes of his victim. 
Then, as if suddenly changing his mind, he stuck the knife back 
into ita sheath, and at the same time cried out : 

“ By the. Virgin ! I will not trust you. You are too free of 
limb, sweet Margariti ! .You might -try to give me the- slip. 
This is a better plan. Come ! raise yourself up 1 a little 
higher — so — now we- go ! Now for the grove— vamos !” 

While, delivering the last words, the .ruffian bent himself 
over the Jialf-prostrate- captive, and placing his arm underneath, 
wound it-around her-waist. He then- raised her upward until 
her^ bosom ^rested upon his — the bosom of my betrothed in 
juxtaposition with the painted breast of this- worse than 
savage 1 

Psaw it, and -slew him not. I saw it, and kept cool. I can 
scarce telL-why, for it is not a-characteristic of my- nature. My 
nerves, from-being so much -played upon during the preceding 
hours, had- acquired the firmness of steel, perhaps, enabled me 
to endure the sight — this combined with the almost certain 
prospect of an improved opportunity. 


THE CRISIS. 


479 


At all events, I kept cool, and remained in my place, though 
ocdy far a moment longer. 


CHAPTER XCIX. 

THE CRISIS. 

ABtfH&cLi-/. . . ' , , 

Ins mi^gaae having raised the unresisting captive in his arms, 
prpeeu^Ud Jo |arry hereaway from the spot. He scarce carried 
her. Her feet, naked andAiound, were trailing upon the grass, 
both -together. 

He passed tha lodge, and was going toward the copse, in an 
oblique -direction. The savages who saw him only shouted, and 
laughed. 

I waited, neither to. see or hear more. Still keeping within 
the timber, I glided along its edge. With quick but noiseless 
step Ewent, making for the same point towards which the ruf- 
fian ravisher was tending. 

I arrived, first, and stooping under the shadow of the trees, 
waited with knife in hand, firm grasped and ready. 

His burden had delayed him. He had stopped midway to 
rest, and was now standing scarce ten paces from the edge of 
the grove, with his victim still in his arms, and apparently lean- 
ing against, him. 

There was a momentary wavering in my mind as to whether 
I should not then rush forth, and strike the coup. The chance 
seemed as good as I might have. 

I was about deciding in the affirmative, when I saw Hissoo- 
rozo had again taken up his burden, and was moving towards 
me. He was-making directly-for the -spot where I-stood. The 
crisis was near 1 

it was even, nearer than I thought. The man had scarce 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


430 


made three steps from the point of rest, when I saw him stum* 
ble and- fall to the earth, carrying the captive along with 
him ! 

The fall appearecLaccidental — I might havo deemed it so, but 
for the wild shout with . which it was. accompanied. Something 
more than a mere : ,stumblo elicited that, fearful cry I 

There was a short struggle upon the, ground — the- bodies be- 
cameuseparated-^-one was seen to-spring suddenly back. I saw 
it was_-Isolina ! There was something in her-hand — both-moou- 
light and -firelight gleamed upon a -crimsoned blade ; she wbo 
grasped it-bent for an instantidowmvard — the keeme/lgo Aom%d 


the^thongs- from her. limbs, and the. moment after she was run- 
ning in full flight across the level sward of the camp-ground. 

Without reflection I sprang out of the, covert and rushed 
after. L passed the„renegade who had -half regained his feet, 
and appeared but- slightly wounded. Astonishment aamuch as 
aught else seemed to. hold him to the spot. He was shouting 
and swearing, calling for help, and uttering, threats of ven- 
geance. 

I could bave^slain him, and was. half inclined to the act ; but 
there was.no time to stay. I only thought of overtaking the fugi- 
tive, and aiding her in her -flight. 

The alarm was- given — the camp was in commotion— fifty 
savages were starting upon the-chase. 

As we ran, my, eyes fell upon a horse— a -white horse. It was 
the -steed. A man was leading him by a lazo. He was taking 
him from the fires towards the grounds occupied by the mustangs. 
He was going to picket him upon the grass. 

Horse and man were directly in front of us, as we ran — in 
front of thejugitive. She was makings towards them. I divined 
herJntention. 


Jn a_few seconds she.was~up to the. horse, and had'seized the 
rope. The Indian, struggled and tried to.take it away froa^ 
her ; the recLblade gleamed iu his~eyes, and he gave back. 


TOE CRISIS. 


481 


He still _clung' to the-^rope, but in an-dnstant it washout from 
his bands, andjpiick as thoughtjthe heroic -woman leaped upon 
the-back of thejiteed, and was seen„galloping away. 

The Indian was one of the .. horse-guards, and was therefore 
armed. He carried-bow and quiver. Before the horse had 
galloped beyond reach, he had bent his bow and sent an arrow 
from the string. I heard the “ wheep” of the shaft, and fancied 
I heard it strike, but the steed -kept on ! 

I had .plucked up-one of the long, spears as 1 ran across ine 
camp. - Before the Indian could adjust another' arrow to the 
string, I had pinned Jaim -to the. grass. - 

I drew back the. spear, and keeping the white horse in view, 
ran on. 

I was soon in the midst of the mustangs. Many of them had 
already stampeded, and were galloping to and fro over the 
ground. The guards were dismayed, and as yet knew not the 
cause of the alarm. The steed, with his. rider, had passed safely 
through their line. 

I was following on foot. JFifty savages, were., after me, I 
could hear their. shouts, I could hear them cry w Wakono,” but 
I was sooa far in the advance of all. The horse-guards as I 
passed them were shouting “ Wakono !” As soon as I had 
cleared the horse-drove, I again perceived the steed ; but he 
was now some, distance ‘off. To my joy he was going in the 
right ^direction — straight for the yuccas upon the hill ; my merj 
would see and intercept him. 

I ran along the stream with all speed. I reached the broken 
bank, and -without stoppings rushed into the gulley, for my 
horse. 

What was ray„ astonishment to- find that he was^gone ! my 
noble stee<Lgone, and in his place the spotted, mustang of the 
Indian! L looked^ up and down the.. channel. I looked along 
its banks. Moro wasmot in sight. 

I was puzzled,- perplexed r furious. I knew no^explanation of 
the mystery, I could think of none. Who could have done it 


482 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


liube must Lave, done it ; but why ? In my hot haste I could 
find no reason for this singular action. 

I had no time to reflect — -not a moment. I drew the animal 
from the water, and leaping upon his back, rode out of the 
channel. 

As I regained the level of the plain, I saw mounted men — a 
crowd of them coming-^from the camp. They were the savages 
in pursuit. One was far ahead of the rest, and before I could 
♦urn my horse to flee he was close, up to me. 

In the moonlight I easily-recognized him — it was-JIissoo-rozo, 
the renegade. 

“ Slave !”- shouted he r speaking in the- Comanche tongue, and 
with furious-emphasis, “ it is-you who have-planned this.. Squaw ! 
coward ! you shall, die. The white - captive is mine — mine 
Wakono 1 and -you” 

He did not finish the. sentence. I still carried the Comanche 
spear. My. six months’ service in a lance regiment now stood 
me in good stead — the mustang behaved handsomely, and car- 
ried me full tilt upon my foe. 

In another instant the,- renegade and his horse were, part- 
ed, the JformerJayJevellecLupon the -grass, transfixed- with tbe 
long— spear, « while the latter was galloping riderless over the 
plain ! 

At this crisis I perceived the crowd coming up, and close to 
the spot. There were twenty or more, and I saw that I should 
soon be surrounded. 

A happy idea came, opportunely to my relief. All along I 
perceived that I was mistaken for Wakono. The. Indian in the 
camp had cried “ Wakono.” The horse-guard shouted “ Wa-- 
kono” as I passed ; the pursuers were calling “ Wakono” as 
they, rode up; the renegade had-fallen with the name upon his 
lips — the -spotted horse, the„ robe of Jaguar skins, the., plumed 
head-dress, the red hand, the white cross, all proclaimed me 
Wakono. 

I urged my horse forward, and reined up in front of the pur 


THE LAST GALLOP. 


483 


suers. I -raised ray arm, and.„_shook it in~_mena»ce before their 

faces. At the sameJnstant Lcried out in a- loud voice : 

“IamAVakono! JDeath to him- who*follovTs !” L spoke in 
Comaneher I was-not-so. sure of the^correetness- of my*, words, 
either of the*. orthography or*, syntax, hut I had th^^gratification 
ta perceive that I vvas^understood. Perhaps my, gestures helped 
the savages to* comprehend me — the -meaning of them was not 
to bemistaken. 

From whatever cause, the pursuers made no further advance, 
but one and all, drawing in their horses, halted upon the 
spot. 

I stayed not for further parley, but wheeling quickly around, 
galloped off as fast as the mustang could carry me. 


CHAPTER C. 

THE LAST GALLOP. 

Onf facing towards the hill, L perceived the steed still not 
so distant. His white body gleaming under the clea^ moon- 
light, could have been easily distinguished at a far greater 
distance. 

I hacLexpected to see him much, further away ; but after all, 
the tilt of the lances, and the .menace delivered to the pursuing 
horsemen, had scarce occupied a score of seconds, and he could 
not in the time have gone out of sight. 

He was still running between -myself and the foot of the hill, 
apparently keeping along the bank of the stream. 

I put the Indian horse to his- full speed. The point of my 
knife , served for whip and spur. I was no longer encumbered 
with the spear. It had been-left in the body of Hissoo-rozo. 

I kept my eyes fixed upon the steed, but he was fast, closing 


4-84 


THE WAE-TRAIL. 


into tlie timber that shielded the base of the hill. He wasmear* 
ipt the-. bend where I had taken the <water, and would soon bo 

0 

hidden from my view. 

All at once I saw him behind the bushes, swerve anckstrike to 
the left across the open plain. To my surprise I saw this, for I 
had conjectured that his rider was aiming for the cover ottered 
by the thicket. 

Without .waiting to think of an explanation, I headed the 
mustang into the diagonal line, and galloped forward. 

I was in hopes of getting nearer by the . advantage thus given 
me, but I was,ill-satisfied with the creeping pace of the Indian 
hbrse-Vso --unlike the long free, stretch of my noble Moro. 
Where wasJie ? Why was I not bestriding him ? 

The whitens teed soon-shot clear of the hill, and was. running 
upon the. plain thatjstretclied beyond it. I saw that I was not 
gaining* up$ y him ; on the contrary, he was every moment 
widening the- distance between us. Where was -Moro ? Why 
had he been taken away ? 

At that instant I perceived a horseman making.along the foot 
of the hill, as if to-intercept me. He was dashing, furiously 
through the thicket that skirted the base of the acclivity. I 
could.hear the bushes rattling ^against the flanks of his horse. 
He wag evidently making all the- haste in his power, at the same 
time .aiming to keep- concealed from the view of anyone upon 
the plain. 

1 recognized 'my horse, and upon his back the thin, lank form 
of the earless trapper. 

We met the moment after at the point where the . thicket 
ended. Without a word passing between us, both simultaneous- 
ly flung ourselves to the ground, exchanged horses, and remount- 
ed. Thank Heaven ! Moro was at last -between my knees. 

“Now, young fellur! 5 ’ cried the, trapper, as I parted from 
him, “ gallip like durnation, an’ kitch- up wrhher !— we’ll soon 
be arter on yur trail— away then-^-away !” 

I needed no prompting from -Rube. His^specch was- not 


THE LAST GALLOP. 


485 


finished before I had sprung my horse forward, and was going 
like the>\Yind. 

It was^only then~that I could comprehencL-why the horses had 
been .changed— **a ruse — it was an,, afterthought of the cunning 
trappers 1- Had Lmounted my., own conspicuous., steed by the 
camp, the Jndians would in all. probability hav.e suspected some- 
thing, and continued the pursuit. It was the. spotted mustang 
that had enabled me to carry out the counterfeit ! 

I had now beneath me a, horse I could ^depend upon; and 
with renewed vigor I bent myself to the chase. For the -third 
time the, black and white stallions were to make trial of their 
speed — for the-third time was it to be’ a struggle between these 
noble creatures. Would the struggle be hard and long? Would 
Moro .again be defeated? Such were my thoughts as I swept 
onward in the .pursuit. 

I rode in silence. L scarce.*. drew breath, so keen were my 
apprehension&.about the result. A long^start had the. prairie- 
horse ; myjdelay had-thrown me far behind him — nearly a-mile. 
But for the friendly- light, I should have lost, sight of him 
altogether; but the plain was open, the -..moon shining, brightly, 
and the snow-white form, like a meteor, beckoned me onward. 

I had not galloped far before perceiving that I. rapidly gained 
upon the steed. Surely he was. not. running at his. fleetest? 
Surely he was going more slowly than was his* wont? 

Oh K could his rider but know* who was coming after ! Could 
she but. hear me ! I would have, called, but the distance was 
still too. great — she could not have heard even my shouts — how 
could she distinguish my voice ? 

I galloped on in silence. I was*.~gaining — constantly and 
rapidly gaining. Surely I was drawing, nearer, or were my eyes 
playing false under the light of the moon ? 

I fancied that the steed was running* heavily-^slowly and 
heavily— as if he was-daboring- in the. race. I fancied — no, it 
was no fancy — I was sure of- it! Beyond a-doubt, he was not 
going at his swiftest speed ! 


486 


THE WAR-TRAIL. 


What could it mean? Was he-broken by fatigue? 

StilL nearer and nearer I came, until scarce three hundred 
yard§_appeared between us. I fancied that my shouts might be 

heard, -that my, voice- 1 .called- aloud — I called the name of 

rny_betrothed^eoupling it with my- own ; but np answer came 
back — no sign of. recognition to^cheer me. 

The ground that now. lay between us. favored a race-course 
speed ; and I was about putting my horse to his full stretch, 
when, to my, astonishment, I saw the steed stagger forward, and 
fall-headlong to the earth ! 

It did not check my career, and in a few seconds more 
I was upon the spot, and halting over horse and rider, still 
prostrate, I flung myself from the saddle and -drew nearer. . Iso- 
lina had now disengaged herself, and risen to her feet. With 
her right- hand clasping the red knife, she stood confronting 
me. 

“ Savage h approach, me -not !” she- cried, in the. Comanche 
tongue, and with a gesture that told me her determination. 

“ Isolina, I am not-^it-is” 

“ Henri.” 

No words interrupted that wild embrace. Nousound could be 
heard save that -made by our- hearts, as they, throbbed closely 
together. ****** 

Silently I stood upon the plain, with my betrothed in my 
arms. Moro was by our side, proudly curving his neck and 
chafing the, steel between his- foaming lips. At our feet lay the 
prairie-horse, with the barb in his Jieart and the feathered shaft 
pointing from his -side. His eyes were- fixed and glassy. Blood 
still ran from his spread nostrils, but his beautiful limbs were 
motionless in death ! 

Dark horsemen were seen approaching fhe spot. We did not 
attempt to flee from them. I recognized my.-followers. 

We looked back over the plain. There were no signs of pur- 
suit, but for all that we did not tarry there. We knew not liow 
soon the Indians might be after us. The friends of Hissoo rozc 


THE LAST GALLOP. 


487 


might start-forth upon the trail of Wakono ! It was near day- 
break when we halted to rest, and themonly after the. prairie had 
been fired ■; behind us. 

We found .shelter in a pretty grove of acacias, and a grassy 
turf on which to repose. My wearied followers soon fell asleep. 

I-slepijiot. I- watched .over the .slumbers of my .betrothed. 
Her beautiful, head rested upon my knees — her soft, damask 
cheek was. pillowed upon the robe of jaguar skins, and my 
eyes. rested-upon it; the thick tresses had fallen aside, and I 
saw-^ — 

The matador, too, had been, merciful, or had gold bribed him 
from his jjruel intent? No. matter which, he had failed in the 
fiendish, duty. There, in full entirety, were those delicate organs 
perfect-^complete. I saw but the trifling, scar, where the gold- 
circlet had been rudely-plucked — the source of that red hemor- 
rhage that had been seen by Cyprio ! 

I was too happy to sleep. * * * It was our last night 

upon the prairies. Before the setting of another sun, we 
had. crossed the Rio Grande, and arrived in the camp of our 
army. Under the broad, protecting wings of the American 
eagle, my . betrothed could repose in safety until that blissful 
hour when— — * * * 


488 


THE WAR-TRAIL 


CHAPTER CI. 

CONCLUSION. 


Oi the- Comanches we never-heard. more. The -story of one 
only was afterwards ' told — a fearful tale. Ill-fated Wakono ! 
A horrid end was his. 

An oft-told tale by the. prairie camp-fire, is- that of the skele- 
ton of anJndian warrior, found clasping the -trunk of a tree! 
Wakono had horribly perished. 

We had no design of giving him to such a fate. Without 
thought had we. acted, and though he may. have, deserved death, 
we had not,designed for him such terrible retribution. Perhaps 
I was the only one who had any remorseful feeling — but the 
remembrance of that, scalp-bedecked shield — the scenes in that 
Cyprian grove — those weeping ..captives, wedded to a woeful 
lot — the ^remembrance of these cruel realities ever more, rose 
before my mind, stifling the remorse. I should otherwise have 
felt for the doom of the ill-starred savage. 

His death, though terrible in kind, was merited by his deeds, 
and was, perhaps, as just as punishments usually are. 

Dramatic unity demands the,-death of Ijurra, and by the^-hand 
of Hollingsworth. Truth enables me to satisfy the demand. 

On my return to the . camp, I learned that the act was already 
consummated — the brother’s blood had been .avenged ! 

It was a tragic tale, and would take many chapters in the 
telling. I may not . give them here. Let a few particulars 
suffice 

Frcm that dread . night Hollingsworth had found a -willing 


CONCLUSION. 


489 


band t^.aid him in his purpose ofL retribution— K>ne who yearned 
fouvengeance, -keenly as himself. Wheatley was the man. 

The two with a chosen party had, thrown themselves on the 
trail of the. . guerrilla ; and, with -Hedro as their guide, had 
followed it far within the hostile lines. Like sleuth hounds had 
they followed it night and day until they succeeded in tracking 
the guerrilleros to their lair. 

It was a desperate»nonflict— hand to hand, and knife to knife ; 
but the .rangers at length, triumphed. Most of the guerrilleros 
wer^ slain, and the .band nearly .annihilated. Ijurra fell by 
Hollingsworth’s own hand ; while the death of the red ruffian, 
ELJZorro, by the bowie-knife of the Texan Lieutenant was an 
appropriate punishment for the cruelty inflicted upon Conchita. 

The revenge of both was complete — though their sorrow was 
still borne within their hearts. 

The expedition of the two Lieutenants was productive of 
other fruits. In the lair of the guerrilla they found many 
prisoners— -Yankees and Ayaukiedos, and among ... others that 
rare diplomatist, Don Raman de Vargas. Of course the old 
gentleman was relieved from his involuntary service with the 
Guerrilleros, and arrived at the head-quarters of the American 
Army, just in time to welcome his fair daughter and future son- 
in-law from their, awte-hymeneal “ tour upon the prairies.’ , 


THX ENB. 




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